


Dirty Dancing

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kissing, Minor Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Mutual Pining, Pining, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: When Daenerys joins her brother on a trip to Casterly Resort, she expects it to be dull. She certainly does not expect falling in love with the dance instructor Jon.A Jonerys AU Dirty Dancing story written for the Jonerys Valentines event.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 90
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

As the Ford Mustang cut through the mountainous landscape, the lush green plains clashing with the shiny red car, Daenerys wondered if three weeks at Casterly Resort would rejuvenate her or drive her insane.

Rhaegar believed the former; describing their getaway as a family vacation, her brother had managed to convince himself that they were about to experience the pinnacle of holidays. In truth, Daenerys knew the next few days would be less focused on relaxing and more about perservering Viserys’ tedious character.

Daenerys somehow sensed that Rhaegar understood this to be the case, albeit he was unwilling to admit it. As they set off from home, he sent her a knowing smile - the same kind you may offer your best friend when swearing to keep a secret - and said: “Sometimes we find joy in the most peculiar places.” Whether he was trying to persuade her or himself, Daenerys wasn’t quite sure, but she gave him a peck on the cheek and promised to be good.

But now, as the grand brick building appeared in the distance, its structure nestled against the glimmering lake, she found it hard to cling on to her vow as a feeling of nausea pressed its way up her throat. Stubbornly, she pushed the heels of her shoes tight against the floor, flattened herself back into the leather seat, and took in a deep breath as she told herself _not to run_.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rhaegar asked. He reached out to turn off the radio. The Four Seasons had been playing, and its lyrics of ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’ lingered in the air, threatening Daenerys to plaster on a smile.

“I’m okay,” she lied.

Rhaegar watched her the same way he did his patients, his violet eyes calm and confident. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Dany,” he said.

“I know,” Daenerys nodded and averted her eyes. She tugged at a crinkle in her dress. The red fabric was worn and washed almost pink, but it was her favourite outfit and not one she was willing to part with. Back in Dorne, no one paid her shabby clothes any heed. _But I sense people here to be less kind,_ she thought and glanced outside.

As they rolled up the driveway, she saw women in fresh orange silk dresses and perfect beehive hair, and at once she felt like a silly little girl who did not know how to style herself. She almost regretted turning down Rhaegar’s offer of a new evening gown, but before panic could set in, her brother’s hand closed around hers, and she turned to face his gentle smile.

“You are perfect the way you are,” he said. “They will see.”

“Even Viserys?” Daenerys jested, and she laughed as Rhaegar wrinkled his nose.

He withdrew his hand and focused on the road ahead as he searched for an available parking spot. “He can be difficult,” Rhaegar admitted, his choice of words intentionally diplomatic, “but his heart is in the right place.”

 _If they ever conduct an autopsy, I am sure they will find his chest empty,_ Daenerys thought dully, but she dutifully replied: “Of course.”

“He will need our support,” he continued.

“Always,” Daenerys sighed and clucked her tongue.

“Dany.” His voice was sharp. When Daenerys met Rhaegar’s eyes, they were no longer calm, but urging. “I mean it,” he said, and his tone was so grave it made her swallow. “You are lucky to have life figured out. It makes living easy. Our brother has been less fortunate, but he’s finding his way with this job. He just needs a push in the right direction.”

The feeling of nausea intensified. As he held her gaze, Daenerys parted her lips to speak, yet before a word could leave her mouth, someone knocked on the driver side window. When they turned to look, they were greeted by Tywin’s stern eyes.

The man’s face was as if carved from stone, even when he smiled. As Rhaegar turned off the car, Tywin raised his hand in an awkward wave, and her brother let go of a laugh.

“Mr Lannister himself!” His voice was thick with faked joy, and he exited the vehicle with such acted enthusiasm that Daenerys could only look on in awe.

As the men shook hands, she slowly opened the door and thought: _Welcome to three weeks of Hell._

It was in the middle of summer. The moment she stepped outside, the sweltering heat embraced her, and even the fresh breeze from across the lake could not cool her sweaty palms. She wiped them off in her skirt before she realised that she was being watched.

From the back of the car, a lad emerged. He had auburn, curly hair and friendly eyes, and the moment their gazes met, he sent her a brilliant smile. “Good day, Miss,” he greeted as he popped open the trunk. “My name is Robb.”

“Robb as in robber?” Daenerys asked as she watched him withdraw her suitcase. When she approached, hands resting on her lower back, she noted that his cheeks had reddened.

“No, just Robb,” the guy assured her. He nodded down his black tracksuit, the fabric imprinted with the golden words ‘Casterly Resort’. “I work here.”

“I sure hope you do, because that’s my stuff.”

“What, just the one?” Robb looked at her small case with disbelief, and Daenerys swiftly snatched it from his hands.

“What about it?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

Robb merely shrugged. “Most of the ladies here bring their whole wardrobe,” he explained, “never known a woman to survive with less than ten frocks.”

“Well, Dany better get used to living small,” Rhaegar said. He approached from the front of the car and put his arm around Daenerys’ shoulders, giving them a small squeeze. “She intends to join the Peace Corps.”

“Peace is a fickle thing,” Tywin spoke. He followed behind Rhaegar, his walk calculated as if he measured the world by his own steps. His eyes on Daenerys were so intense that she felt herself cool under his stare. “But if not for this man, I would’ve found it in an early grave,” he said. When he finally looked away, Daenerys breathed out in relief.

“You’re a doctor, Sir?” Robb asked Rhaegar with admiration.

“One of the best,” Tywin replied before his head snapped to Robb. “Now don’t dawdle, boy, and show Dany the way.”

“Right.” Robb hurried to grab the two remaining suitcases before gesturing for Daenerys to follow. “This way to the cottage, Miss!”

“Just Dany is fine,” Daenerys assured him. She followed a step behind, her eyes roaming the landscape around them.

The grass had been cut meticulously, and it stretched all the way to the edge of the lake. In the still water, the blue sky was reflected as well as the shape of the mountains, their slate grey peaks hovering in the distance. The air was heavy with the smell of peonies from the flowerbeds huddled up against the main building. She passed them by with a small smile on her lips. “It sure is beautiful around here.”

“It is a place of rest,” Robb spoke, and his words sounded carefully rehearsed, “as well as a resort where you are sure to find entertainment.”

“Is that so,” Daenerys said, her voice bored. She could already see it: cabaret in the evening, performed by mediocre local stars and volunteers. The thought alone made her grimace.

Robb, seemingly unbothered by his unenthusiastic guest, continued his spiel: “We have game nights and all sorts of classes, including dance lessons. We even have one taught by a former Rockette!”

“People really attend these things?”

“Oh yeah. Just the other night-”

As he rambled, Daenerys’ eyes sought the building. The old stone walls were rugged, but the windows newly painted cream. All of them had been opened wide, allowing the breeze to tug at the thin curtains, and she felt her steps slow as she peeked into the grand dining room on the other side.

The tables were nestled close, all of them covered in thick cloths and set with white plates wearing golden edges, shining silver cutlery, and glasses so recently washed that water was still clinging onto their stems. It was a weary sight, akin a grandmother’s idea of perfection, and she was about to catch up to Robb when something stopped her right in her steps. It was the sight of something unmistakably familiar - fluttering strands of silver hair.

“Listen up, guys,” a voice rang from inside the room, the tone of it pitched. “There are two kinds of help here. You waiters are college boys. My grandfather has carefully selected you, and I shouldn’t have to remind you why.”

The silver hair moved from one sill to the next. Daenerys put down her suitcase, and she quickly walked the small strip of grass to the window and glanced in.

There, against the back wall, a group of young men were gathered. They were all dressed in black slacks and white jackets, their collar yellow. In their midst stood a golden haired boy, his own suit dark red. He was shorter than the men around him, and appeared younger too, but when he spoke, they all listened and watched him with care. Daenerys realised it was his voice that had carried outside.

“I expect you all to play your part in this family business,” he said, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he walked about, looking into the eyes of every person present, “and show the goddamn daughters a good time.”

“Even the dogs?” someone chortled.

Daenerys felt a shiver run down her spine. She recognised the voice at once, and before the guy turned in the window, she knew him to be her brother.

 _Viserys_ , she thought, eyeing her sibling. He was a thin man, pale and frail, but nonetheless handsome in his own way. In this, he was alike Rhaegar - attractive in looks, although less so in personality. He was smiling proudly at his own comment, and the blond haired lad did not seem to mind.

Instead, he turned to Viserys with a grin on his lips as he chuckled: “ _Especially_ the dogs.” He licked his thin lips, waiting for the lads to stop grinning before he stated: “Romance them - but no more. Keep your,” he gestured at his crotch, “zipped.”

“Got that, boys?” a guy called, flinging the kitchen door open as he strutted into the dining hall. Daenerys’ eyes widened as her gaze fell on this newcomer: Black, curly locks. Pale, grey eyes. Round, soft lips. Broad, sturdy shoulders and thick arms which stretched out his worn tee. As she watched him, she felt her mouth go dry, and she lowered herself even further, suddenly frightened of being caught staring.

The golden haired boy snapped his fingers and waved at the newcomer. “Hey, you - _entertainment staff_ ,” he said, his voice thick with dislike, “don’t forget you have your own rules.” He paused, clearly waiting for a level of attention that he never got, and as the black-haired guy kept walking, his voice rose to keep up with him: “You teach the women any dance they want - but that’s where it ends. _No funny business!_ ”

“Think you can keep track of that, Jon?” Viserys smirked. It was only then that the guy - _Jon_ , supposedly - turned on his heels and slowly walked back toward the group. As he approached, Viserys straightened up, just enough to look him in the eyes. “What you can and can’t do?”

Daenerys could sense the intensity in the room. It was thick, like the way thunder fills the air with electricity before the bolts show on the sky. She felt the small hairs on her arms stand up as the two men stared each other down.

“Keep playing with your pickle, college boy,” Jon said, his voice gruff, “and leave the hard stuff to me.”

“Dany!”

Daenerys stirred as her name was called, and before the two guys could turn to see her, she ducked low and scurried back to her suitcase. By the time she’d picked it up, Robb had returned, his face looking red.

“Miss!” he said out of breath. “Where did you go? I was almost by the cottage when I noticed you were gone!”

“Sorry, I got distracted,” Daenerys said and bit her lower lip. When Robb paused, clearly expecting a more in-depth explanation, she weakly gestured toward a rose bush and said: “I like flowers.” She knew she sounded dumb, but Robb nodded as if understanding.

“Luck has it - we have flower arranging classes, too,” he spoke, easily falling back into his staff role, and this time she followed closely by his side as he led her toward the buildings by the lakeside.

Still as they walked, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder back toward the windows, and she could’ve sworn she saw a grey pair of eyes watching her all the way down the path.

* * *

As darkness fell, the dining hall was starkly lit up, and during dinner Daenerys found herself glancing at every waiter, trying to determine if she recognised their faces from earlier that day. _They are all here,_ she decided whilst mindlessly picking at the napkin in her lap, her plate of food barely touched, _all but one._

It was strange to her, but the image of the black-haired Jon still lingered in her mind. There was something in the way he had watched her walk that unsettled her and made her stomach flutter. She couldn’t quite decide whether she liked the feeling or not.

“You have ogled every man in here tonight,” someone said from behind her, “Has anyone caught your fancy?”

Before Daenerys could move to see who spoke, Rhaegar rose from his seat at the table. “Viserys!” he cried with joy, and she turned just in time to see the two of them embrace.

As earlier, Viserys was dressed like a waiter - black trousers, white jacket, his dark bow tie sitting neatly at his ironed collar. _It is odd to see him like this,_ Daenerys thought. Back home, her sibling refused to wear anything but the finest garbs, always insisting that only the newest fashion would do. Yet he was smiling, and he looked almost proud as he straightened his jacket for Rhaegar to admire.

“I was starting to think we wouldn’t get to see you at all today,” Rhaegar said, “where have you been hiding?”

“Hiding!” Viserys laughed. In his shrillness, Daenerys could hear how he forced himself to sound upbeat, but their brother looked undeterred. “I have been working. Mr Lannister has been a most generous host for these past few weeks.”

“I shall give him my thanks,” Rhaegar said.

As if on cue, Tywin approached on Daenerys’ left, hovering over her shoulder as he spoke: “Nonsense, Rhaegar.” When Daenerys glanced up at him, he met her eyes coolly. “It seems to me Viserys is a bit of a protege when it comes to business administration. It has been a pleasure showing him the ropes around here. I am sorry to have him on waiting duties. Only it would not be fair to the others-” He paused, his eyes finally ripping away from her to look at her brothers, and she glanced over in time to see Viserys swiftly shaking his head. His silver locks bounced around his sharp face.

“Not at all, Sir,” he said, his voice strained, “it’s _an honour_.”

 _Of course,_ Daenerys realised as she eyed her brother. Though almost invisible, she could see a faint glow of pink starting to form on his cheeks, and his violet eyes appeared just slightly darker than usual. She knew him to be getting upset. _You don’t get something for nothing from the Lannisters. You want their influence, you pay your dues - and thank them for it._

“Yes, Viserys’ future no doubt lies in management,” Rhaegar said, his voice certain, and he looked kindly from their sibling to her as he continued: “And Dany here will change the world.”

“Peace Corps, was it?” Tywin said, his voice so neutral that Daenerys couldn’t tell if he meant to admire or mock her. “And what do you plan to do there?”

“Dany plans to decorate it,” Viserys scoffed, his voice leaving no doubt about the fact that he intended to insult her.

Daenerys felt her cheeks flush, and she finally rose from her chair, the napkin slipping to the floor, and she turned to bid them all a good night. Only someone spoke sooner than she:

“Decorate it? I think she already does.”

Daenerys almost flinched when she saw who had spoken. _It’s the golden haired boy,_ she realised, recognising the arrogant lad from earlier. He had changed into a dark blue suit, one that matched Tywin’s, and now, as he stood at his side, she could see a clear resemblance between them. Mostly in the way their eyes lingered on her, making her shuffle uncomfortably on the spot.

Tywin clapped his hands together. “Ah, Rhaegar, this is my grandson Joffrey. He goes to the Highgarden School of Hotel Management.”

“Is that so?” Rhaegar spoke. “Dany will be starting at Dorne’s this year.”

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a lady who possesses not only beauty but a clever mind,” Joffrey spoke with a sleazy smile, and he took hold of Daenerys’ hand as he bowed down to kiss it.

 _Like slimy worms_ , Daenerys thought as his lips sloppily moved across her knuckles. When he glanced into her eyes, she forced a smile to her lips, as always appearing perfectly polite. “A pleasure,” she muttered. Once he let go of her hand, she discreetly wiped it off in her skirt.

“The band’s playing next door,” Joffrey said, looking between Tywin and Rhaegar. “I would be most delighted if Miss Targaryen would honour me with a dance.”

Daenerys sent Rhaegar a panicked look, and her brother stuttered: “Well, it is rather late,” as he awkwardly checked the time on his wrist watch. Even from where she was standing, Daenerys could see the hands showing just 7pm.

“Let the young ones live,” Tywin urged, and he smiled as Joffrey claimed Daenerys’ hand once more, this time leading her with him out of the dining hall.

“He is right,” Daenerys said, glancing back over her shoulder toward Rhaegar. The last thing she caught before she slippered out of the room was Viserys’ grinning face. “It _is_ late.”

“You don’t have to play a mouse with me,” Joffrey said, his fingers digging in between hers. As they walked down the empty hallway, the only sound being their footsteps echoing between the wooden walls, he looked at her with a smirk on his lips. “Your father is no longer here to watch you.”

Daenerys resisted the urge to gag, and she gritted her teeth together as she merely stated: “He is not my father. Rhaegar is my brother.”

“No way,” Joffrey chuckled in honest surprise, “he looks so much older than you!”

“He did raise us like a father,” she admitted. She was glancing around, trying to come up with something she could use as an excuse to leave, but her mind was completely blank. All she could do was listen to the distant rumbling of music, the sound growing louder as they approached the door at the end. “Our parents died when I was young.”

“I wish my mother was dead,” Joffrey said casually, and Daenerys’ lips snapped shut in shock. She stared at him speechless until he awkwardly laughed: “I don’t mean that, of course!” Still something told her he did.

Before she could question him further, though, the door was pushed open, and the music embraced them at once. The live band was playing light ballroom music, nothing that would get the crowd of over 50s too heated up, but Joffrey seemed excited all the same. He took both her hands in his as he dragged her out onto the dancefloor, right into the midst of the crowd, and started leading her by the waist.

As they clumsily jiggled, Daenerys glanced around. The room was drab, the only noticeable attempt at creating an atmosphere being the overhead machine continuously blowing bubbles across the space. She wafted a blob of soap out of her face before realising that Joffrey was speaking to her. “What?”

“I asked - are you studying English?” His voice was polite, but the question stung all the same.

Daenerys forced herself not to huff. “No, economics of underdeveloped countries,” she replied. If she expected a reaction, she was disappointed - Joffrey’s face remained blank as a slate. “I intend to do good in this world,” she specified.

“After the final show, my grandfather is flying me out to Volantis,” Joffrey said. “Sunbathing, swimming - I can’t wait.”

“Sounds like we have the same goal in life,” Daenerys smiled.

Joffrey returned the smile cluelessly. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll get him to buy an extra ticket,” he said and winked, and Daenerys suppressed a grimace.

“What a proposition.”

As the music ended, Daenerys was grateful to let go of Joffrey’s needy grab, and she clapped for few seconds longer than necessary as the band bowed to the audience, allowing a breeze to run over her warm palms. _What am I doing here?_ she thought, feeling her lips shiver as she turned back to Joffrey, retaining her polite smile.

There was nothing Daenerys wanted more than to skip into the cool evening air, perhaps stroll down by the lakeside in the quiet, just allowing her thoughts to wander. Ever since Rhaegar announced that they were visiting Viserys at Casterly Resort, she had tried to prepare herself for what was to come: dull dinners, cringeworthy entertainment, and long conversations with entitled folks who would pay gold for dust if they believed it to be the newest fad.

 _I am not doing it for Viserys,_ she reminded herself, even more so as the band started playing again, and Joffrey joyfully announced that they _had_ to do the mambo. _I am doing it for Rhaegar._

So she allowed his grabby hands to reach her one more time, closing around her fingers and waist, and they trudged back and forth as her mind started closing down, her body moving at its own accord. She could’ve gotten lost in the bumping shoulders, stench of body odour, and taste of the soapy bubbles falling from above, had it not been for _them_.

From the first beat of the music, they stood out from the crowd. Her - tall and skinny, brown locks partially tied up whilst the rest danced around a heart-shaped face, eyes squinted like a kitten’s, lips pursed as if ready for kissing. Him - black curls bouncing around his square face, his jaw covered in a thick beard, his lips pulled into a confident smile, his grey eyes sparkling in the light.

 _That’s Jon_ , Daenerys realised at once, and her steps slowed long enough for Joffrey to notice that she was distracted. Once he caught sight of what she was staring at, his face scrounged into a scoff.

“Oh God, what a palaver,” he groaned.

“Who _are_ they?” Daenerys asked, her voice breathless. It wasn’t merely the way they looked that made her heart throb - it was the way they _danced_.

Jon swung the woman around, her back bending as if her spine was made of rubber - so far back did she go when urged by his steady hand, and just as easily did she swing back up, her body moving perfectly to the beat of the music. It was as if she was a blade of grass and he was the breeze. Wherever he led her, she went, assured that he would not go astray; around they danced, their steps smooth, their bodies demanding space on the floor, and whoever saw them move eagerly stepped aside, their faces bright with amazement at what was playing out before their eyes.

“Them?” Joffrey scoffed, “they’re the dance people. They’re just here to keep the guests happy.” His tone of voice suggested she should pay them no heed, yet Daenerys could not drag her eyes away from them.

Jon was assertive, she noted. His hand on the woman’s waist was strong, it was _leading_. He moved her body about with ease, causing her pink dress skirt to ride around her hips when they swayed, and when he swung her around, the smirk on his lips was incredibly _indulging_. Daenerys caught herself wondering what it would feel like to have him look at her in that way, his grey eyes ravaging her body, his hand urging her waist, pulling her close.

Joffrey, on the other hand, seemed less impressed by the whole display. He crossed his arms and sighed: “They shouldn’t be showing off like that together. That won’t sell lessons.”

“I suppose,” Daenerys muttered, still she noted every person in the room was eyeing the two of them. Her eyes sought from the woman’s silver heels up her legs, further past her back until she glanced over her shoulder at Jon, and that’s when she met his pale, grey eyes.

 _He’s seen me,_ she thought and froze in place. For a second, she felt sweat prickle at her skin, and she tried to convince herself that she was imagining it. Nonetheless, his gaze was locked with hers, and she swore he winked at her when his dance partner swung her leg up onto his shoulder, and his rough fingertips closed at her heel, holding her in place as he shuffled backwards.

The whole room gasped in shock. Joffrey’s face was going red as a beet. “This is _disgusting_. I’m getting my grandfather.” He stomped off, and Daenerys shyly stepped to the side, ducking into the crowd that had gathered around the dancers. By the time she could peek in over someone’s shoulder, she saw Jon, hands readied for the woman as she jumped toward him, landing perfectly in his arms for one final swing.

 _Amazing_ , Daenerys thought, her eyes glimmering, and she tip-toed, eager to see more, when Jon’s sparkling eyes suddenly seemed to dull. She followed his gaze through the crowd to Tywin, his face stern as he slowly shook his head, and by the time she looked back, Jon had disappeared, and the space he had created on the dancefloor was once again filled with couples doing the mambo.

“That ought to teach them,” Joffrey said as he popped up behind her, causing Daenerys to squirm in surprise. He misunderstood her reaction and eyed her with sadness. “Dany, I apologise for that indecent display.”

“Not at all,” Daenerys replied, perhaps a bit too quickly, and she swiftly clarified: “I think I need some air after that.”

“Of course! Let me escort you-” Joffrey started, but Daenerys shook her head and put a bit of force into her voice as she stated:

“Alone, please,” and, realising how harsh she sounded, added: “Thank you for tonight, Joffrey. It was most, uh, _interesting_.”

“You are indeed,” Joffrey smiled, and he placed another wet kiss on her hand, “ _most interesting._ ”

* * *

Daenerys wasn’t sure for how long she’d been walking, she only knew that by the time she reached the ‘STAFF ONLY’ sign, she was too sore and tired to care. With a slouched back, she scurried past it, hugging her cold frame as she made her way up the hilly path.

When she first fled Joffrey in the ballroom, her mind had been racing. Though she tried to force herself to look ahead, focusing on the end of summer and her upcoming study, her thoughts kept returning to the sight of Jon. She wasn’t certain what about the man that made her heart skip a beat, only that his face lingered in her mind, and whenever she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, she saw him dance across her lids, his body strong, his smirk urging her closer.

She imagined herself dancing the way his brown-haired partner had, completely carefree and confident, her body swaying sensually, her eyes daring the world to judge her. _Rhaegar would disown me,_ she scolded herself, and the realisation made her scared and giddy all at once. _He would lock me up in a nunnery until the end of my days._

Around her, the dark path through the sparse woods grew lighter as the sideroad lamps were outshined by the large lit building ahead. On the top floor, she could see movement, and the distant sound of music playing loitered in the air like a quiet rain. She couldn’t quite make out the tones, but it jolted about, teasing her ears and making them perk, and it encouraged her to carry on until she reached a tall set of steps.

At the bottom, she recognised the man struggling to hold three watermelons close to his chest.

“Hi Robb!” she greeted, and she approached him with quick steps.

Robb turned to look at her, his gaze confused and surprised all at once. “Dany,” he realised, “how’d you get here?”

“I just went for a walk,” she said with a shrug. As swiftly as she’d claimed her suitcase from him that morning did she wrestle a watermelon free of his grasp. “Let me help you.”

“No, sorry,” Robb said, his voice thick with concern. “No guests are allowed.”

“Why? What’s up there?” Daenerys asked and glanced toward the lit building. The longer she looked at it, the louder the music seemed. She recognised the instruments: guitars, bass, drums, saxophone, piano. “Is it a party?”

“No guests allowed,” Robb repeated. “You should probably head back to your loverboy.”

“Loverboy?” Daenerys scoffed, and Robb smirked, clearly entertained by the frustrated look on her face.

“I saw you dancing with the little boss man,” he said and pursed his lips into a kiss as he mockingly hummed: “Mh-hm!”

Daenerys felt her chest clench with anger, and she pushed the melon back into his trembling arms. “I thought you were nice,” she chided and watched him stumble, but before she could turn and walk away, Robb sighed and shook his head.

“You’re right - I’m sorry,” he said, and though she wasn’t sure whether he was just saying so to get her help or not, what he said next piqued her interest all the same: “Can you keep a secret?”

“You’re not leading me to my death, are you?” she jested as she grabbed the watermelon once more. As they made their way up the stairs, Robb laughed.

“Perhaps,” he said. His voice was light from strain, and she noted a drip of sweat slipping down his forehead. “I know your father would kill you if he knew.”

“Not my father,” she said for the second time that day and sighed. “Rhaegar is my brother.”

“All the same - Tywin would kill me too!”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. _Men are so dramatic,_ she thought, though when Robb led her all the way to the top floor of the mansion, she suddenly understood his hesitation.

As the doors swung open, what was revealed astonished her: if Joffrey had shown her to the ballroom of death, Robb had led her to the room where life was created. At least, it seemed that the men and women on the dance floor before her were persistently trying to make _something_ happen with the way they grinded and rubbed against one another, their bodies scarcely clothed and their movements suggestive. James Brown’s rhythmic ‘Mashed Potatoes’ was playing, and every man and woman in the room seemed to understand the music, breathe the music, live it. The longer she looked, the more Daenerys came to realise that some of their movements had been mirrored by Jon and his dance partner earlier that evening, although in a more conservative setting. These couples, however, had no restraints, and she heard herself ask:

“Where did they learn to do that?”

“Where?” Robb asked, his eyes busy taking in the scene before them. He looked as impressed as she, she noticed, though she was sure he’d known what to expect. He shrugged: “I don’t know. Kids are doing it at home. Want to try?”

Daenerys quickly shook her head, earning herself a laugh from Robb as he called: “Come on, Dany!” and made his way through the dancing crowd.

Daenerys squeezed the watermelon tight to her chest as she followed, inching her way around the couples. Some of them seemed lost in each others bodies, their frames not moving to make space for her, whilst others sent her disapproving glares, their eyes slowly judging her from top to bottom. She curled her toes in her flats and wondered why she had decided to wear her boring a-line dress that evening, but it was too late for regrets.

By the time she reached the other side, Robb had already placed the watermelons on a makeshift bar. He grabbed hers and added it to the pile before turning toward the dancing crowd. “Something else, isn’t it?” he asked with a sigh, and Daenerys leaned onto the counter next to him as she nodded, her own gaze darting across the dancers. “Imagine this taking place in the ballroom? Tywin would shut the whole place down before allowing it.”

There was a sudden cheer from the crowd. As Daenerys glanced back toward the door, she caught a couple of known faces entering, causing everyone on the floor to clap their hands.

 _Jon_ , she recognised, his black hair now pulled back into a neat bun. He looked different. He looked-”

“Nice, isn’t she?” Robb sighed. Daenerys shortly glanced from him to Jon’s brown-haired dance partner. She too had loosened her hairdo, her locks jumping freely around her shoulders. “Her name’s Margaery. She’s the former Rockette I was telling you about.”

“Margaery,” Daenerys repeated in a whisper, and she looked at her pink skirt as it flounced about, Jon steadily leading her into the music with ease. They didn’t stumble as if they’d just arrived mid-song, she realised. _No, they’re professionals_ , she thought, noticing how their moves were more accurate than everyone else’s, more sensual, more in tune.

“And that’s my brother Jon,” Robb said, pointing to the black-haired guy.

Daenerys took in a sharp breath as she watched him dance, his shoulders rocking, his feet slipping across the floor. “Brother?” she asked.

“Well, kind of,” Robb said. His lips were curved into a small smile as his eyes lingered on Margaery. “We grew up together. He got me the job here last summer.”

Daenerys nodded mindlessly, her eyes too busy taking up every move. “They sure look good together,” she muttered after a while, admiring how Margaery flailed her skirt as she danced around Jon, and he urged her on, his smile teasing.

“Yeah, you’d think they were a couple,” Robb admitted.

“Well, aren’t they?” Daenerys asked, causing him to chuckle.

“Not since we were kids!” He licked his lips and sighed, and Daenerys did the same, both of them longingly watching as Jon and Margaery finished off their set with her jumping to his shoulders, her knees locked at his head, her skirt swinging high as she sent Robb a naughty smile.

The whole room clapped and cheered, closing in around them as Jon lowered Margaery back onto the floor, but the joy soon spread into another dance, the song changing swiftly. Daenerys sank back against the counter as her eyes met Jon’s.

Even from across the dance floor, she felt how intense his stare was. But in comparison to that of the Lannisters, Jon’s gaze was welcomed, and it made her whole body tingle. As he moved closer, pushing his way through the dancing bodies to reach her, she felt her cheeks go pink, and she averted her eyes as he stopped before her.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked, his voice as gruff as this morning, and Daenerys wondered if he really was so broody or just putting it on.

Robb fiddled with his shirt. “She’s alright. She came with me,” he explained.

Feeling a need to justify her presence, Daenerys glanced back up into Jon’s eyes and said: “I carried a watermelon.” She awkwardly gestured towards the melons on the table, and Jon quirked his brows.

“Right,” he just said and paused, and Daenerys looked back down, scolding herself:

_I carried a watermelon? What kind of thing is that to say?_

Still, as her eyes lingered on the tips of Jon’s shoes, she didn’t see them move away. Instead, he remained, and after a second or two, she looked up to meet his gaze and found him smirking at her dirtily.

“Come,” he said, his eyes beckoning her to follow, and she met his stare full on, feeling butterflies rumbling in her stomach. As he backed onto the floor, she could only follow, feeling the music beat through her body, making her heartbeat quicken.

Daenerys was no dancer, and truly she wasn’t sure why he didn’t just leave her the moment she stiffly jerked her hips and bumped into his chest. But he just laughed, his voice silenced by the loud saxophone, and she shyly pulled herself back, her hand warm from where it had touched his body. She had felt his strong frame on her palm, the ripples of his abs obvious through his thin, unbuttoned shirt, but she tried not to linger on the thought lest she should blush.

Jon easily fell in line with the music, his hips moving to the beat, and Daenerys stood in front of him, clumsily copying his jerking movements, the hemline of her dress riding up her legs. It didn’t take long for him to shake his head and reach out to correct her.

“No,” he spoke, but she didn’t hear it, just read his plump lips as they moved. “Like this.” He pushed firmly down on her shoulders, making her bend in the knees, and his rough hands slipped down her small frame, closing at her hips as he moved them in tune.

Daenerys felt herself flustered, worried if he was judging the flesh he was certain to feel jiggle on her untrained body, but once their gazes locked, her buzzing mind quieted immediately. Because in his grey eyes, she found no judgement, just amusement mixed with a tingle of desire, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“Good,” he said as she swayed her hips, and she felt a smile take over her lips. She could no longer hold it back, especially not when he drew her closer, the scent of his sweat and aftershave tingling her sensed. “Very good.”

 _Joffrey tried to compliment me at length, but it didn’t make me feel this breathless,_ Daenerys thought, realising that she had been holding her breath. She gasped in, causing Jon to chuckle, and once more she tried to avert her eyes. Only this time she couldn’t. She could only get lost in his stare, his smirk, his moving body, and press herself close to him, their scents mixing into one.

She could smell him. She could taste him - this close, his breath slipped across her lips, and she could sense cigarette smoke and beer and berries in his air, the scents raw and sweet all at once. Her fingertips tingled. She felt a sudden need to reach out and take a hold of him, and before she could stop herself, she had her arms wrapped around his neck, allowing him to draw her even closer.

His crotch grinded to her dress. Her hips moved with a need to have him closer. She felt herself soaked in heat. Sweat dripped from between her shoulder blades to her lower back. Her knickers felt wet. _I should not allow myself to be carried away this easily,_ she chided herself, yet she did not hesitate to give in, especially not when Jon’s lips curved into a dirty smile and his front teeth tucked at his lower lip, his eyes eating her up.

She felt wanted, she felt needed. She didn’t want their dance to end.

Then, he slipped from beneath her arms, twirling her around and causing her to squeal with glee, but when she rolled back on her heels to face him, he was slipping back into the dance crowd, disappearing out of sight. All she could do was join the others in cheering for the end of the song and clap along for the next, though she felt the joy for dancing had left her heart at once.

* * *

The lakeside was crammed. Where the lush forest ended, a small strip of white sand allowed easy access to the blue water, and Casterly Resort seemed determined to make the most of their little beach. As far as Daenerys could see, white plastic recliners had been lined up, and women with their skin scorched red from the morning sun slowly flipped over as if on cue, all of them baring their pale backs to the intense midday heat.

 _When Robb told me he had a surprise,_ Daenerys thought, ripping her eyes away from the glistening lake to the table in front of her, _I didn’t think this would be it._

“Now, listen up ladies,” a man bellowed, trudging his way back and forth in front of the table, “flower arranging is a delicate matter, but you know what they say - a woman who can handle her flowers, can handle her man!”

 _Who has ever said that?_ Daenerys wondered and glanced across the flowers on display; daisies, lilies, and roses, and yellow carnations aplenty. All freshly cut from the resort’s many flowerbeds and brought to the lakeside in large wooden boxes. More were being poured out by the bellowing man, his black tracksuit soaked with sweat as he fumbled with the next batch.

As the women around her started selecting their bunches, Daenerys picked up a rose and watched its red petals with a sigh. _There’s so much I’d rather be doing,_ she thought and closed her eyes as she smelled the flower’s sweet aroma, the scent sending her back to the morning she arrived. How she stood near the bushes, glancing through the window into the dining hall. How she saw Jon for the first time.

Daenerys didn’t consider herself a daydreamer, yet whenever she closed her eyes, she was back in the ballroom. But no longer was she a spectator - no, she was in Margaery’s pink dress, and the Rockette’s trained routine became her own. She held onto her skirt, the soft fabric tickling her heated skin, and when she twirled, a breeze surrounded her, cooling down her clammy body. Though she did not know the name of a single dance step, in her mind she knew them all, and she did them to perfection - just to end up in Jon’s strong arms at the end.

Daenerys shivered, feeling how his rough hands closed around her small shoulders. He dragged her close. His lips pressed to her ear. He whispered:

“I hear you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Daenerys’ eyes fluttered open, and she glared at Viserys in surprise. He cackled next to her ear and let go of her shoulders as he straightened up. “What do you mean?” she asked, and she shuffled a bit to the side as he claimed the seat next to her.

Her brother lazily dug through the piles of flowers. “I saw you dance,” he said, and Daenerys felt her cheeks go pink.

“You did?” she mumbled, her mind immediately buzzing with the images of her and Jon on the dancefloor in the staff room. _Of course, he’s staff too,_ she reminded herself, but before she could stutter a defence, Viserys smirked:

“Are you and Mr Lannister an item now?”

Daenerys felt all air seep out of her lungs. _He doesn’t mean Jon - he means Joffrey!_ she realised. The relief must have shown on her face, because Viserys perked and his smile deepened.

“Look at that grin,” he said, pointing to her dimples, and Daenerys sucked in her lower lip as she forced her face back to a neutral state. “You _are_ an item!”

“Nonsense.” Daenerys shook her head, feeling her locks dance around her shoulders in the same. “I have no interest in that self-absorbed boy. He’s-” she paused, looking for the right word before settling on, “ _odd_.”

“The whole family is weird,” Viserys agreed, his voice hushed. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the area for anyone who might be listening in. “But they’re also loaded. If I can play my cards right, I’ll be in the boardroom by next year.”

“Doing what, serving coffee?” Daenerys scoffed.

Viserys’ eyes snapped back to hers. They were glowing with malice. “I’m only being a waiter for show,” he assured her. “Tywin has been teaching me about management for weeks.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Don’t fool yourself,” she snorted. “He does it because he owes Rhaegar his life.”

“He sees _potential_ in me.”

“He sees an easy payback,” Daenerys retorted.

Viserys’ hands were clenched into fists. For a moment, she almost thought he was going to punch her, but he grabbed at her dress instead. Beneath the table, where no one could see his actions, his fingertips dipped so deep into the fabric that she could feel his nails scrape across her skin.

“You listen to me, _Dany_ ,” he hissed, his voice a whisper across her face. He leaned in close, the stench of wine obvious on his breath. Daenerys wondered if he was drunk. “You are not going to ruin my chances again. If Joffrey says dance, you dance. If he says smile, you smile. And God be good, if he says bend over, you _bend_.”

His stare was so intense Daenerys felt her lips dry. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, the threat hanging heavily in the air. Still, she would not nod, and though Viserys waited for her agreement, she kept her mouth shut and her eyes defiant, glaring back at him with as much hostility as she could muster.

It was a husky voice that finally broke the tension: “Good job, ladies.”

Daenerys glanced away from her brother to see Jon. He was walking alongside the table, presumably admiring the women’s work. With his dark shades on, she could not tell for sure, but she sensed his eyes met hers, if only for a second.

“Get lost,” Viserys hissed under his breath, and he got up so quickly that his chair was knocked over. As he stalked around the table, he brushed past Margaery who had arrived in the same, and Daenerys noticed how her brown eyes followed her brother all the way uphill to the main building. Something in them looked bothered, but before she could linger, Margaery turned to smile at Jon as he approached.

“Today’s schedule,” she said, handing him a clipboard. “Your lessons have been requested a lot.”

“Won’t have any time for myself,” Jon mumbled as he flipped through the pages.

“Not like you do much when you’re off.”

“Not much,” Jon agreed. He glanced out of the corners of his eyes, and Daenerys felt her spine tingle when their eyes met. She quickly glanced down, taking in a deep breath to prepare herself to say _something_.

Yet, by the time she stood up, Jon had already taken his leave, trudging back down the beach, and she meekly flipped Viserys’ chair back up standing before stepping over to Margaery.

“Hi,” she smiled, earning herself a peculiar glance from the woman. Daenerys straightened her blue dress and stammered: “Is it really true that you were a Rockette?” As she didn’t get an answer immediately, she started feeling her palms go sweaty and, in an attempt to redeem herself, admitted: “I think you’re a _wonderful_ dancer.”

Margaery scoffed, her lips pursing into an overbearing smile, and Daenerys wanted to dig deep into the sand and just hide. She wasn’t sure what about the woman made her feel like such a _girl_ , but her huffed tone of voice did nothing to calm her nerves. “Well, my mother married me off when I was sixteen,” she snapped, flipping through her own clipboard of papers. Daenerys noticed that her name appeared less than Jon’s. “I fled to live with my grandmother. I have been dancing ever since. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“I envy you,” Daenerys spoke shyly. She meant it as a compliment, but Margaery just smiled wryly.

“Got to make ends meet, right?” she said and glanced Daenerys up and down before chortling: “Not that you would know, Miss.” She turned on her heels with ease and stomped the same way she came, leaving Daenerys flustered on the beach, her red cheeks glowing brightly against the white sand.

* * *

As evening fell across Casterly Resort, paper lanterns in bright colours were strung alongside the wooden pavilion, their soft glow mingling with the dim lines of fairy lights wrapped around the main beams. A gentle tune teased the air as couples in their finest garbs joined to do the foxtrot, and Rhaegar happily watched the scene before him as his fingertips tapped to his glass of wine.

“Are you not participating?” Daenerys jested. She stood next to him, her loosely knitted cardigan keeping her warm as her thin, white outfit did little to keep out the evening breeze. At his request, she had attempted to dress up, her brother insisting that the Lannisters would consider it a show of respect.

“It is only polite - Tywin has been a good host,” Rhaegar had said as they got ready in the cottage.

“A good host would not expect anything of his guests,” Daenerys had replied, but nonetheless she chose her best dress, the fabric almost as pale as her silver hair. When Rhaegar saw her in it, he had smiled proudly and said:

“Joffrey was right, Dany. You _do_ decorate the world,” and though the mention of Tywin’s disturbed grandson made her cringe, she accepted her brother’s warm hug all the same.

Now, as she glanced up at him, his silver hair slicked back, the ends of his locks brushing against his stark black suit, she saw a faint line of pink spread across his cheeks. Whether from her question or the wine, she was not certain, but he waved her off with a: “I am just waiting for a waltz.”

“Liar. You can’t do a waltz.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me do it, doesn’t mean I am incapable.”

“Then show me,” Daenerys urged and held out her hand. To her surprise, her sibling claimed it in his, but instead of leading her into dance, he dragged her close and pecked her forehead. It made her giggle. “I knew it!”

“If you want to do the waltz, I can get them to change the music, my dear,” a slick voice offered.

Daenerys’ giggling turned to a choke as she laid eyes on Joffrey. He walked up the steps to the pavilion, a haughty smile dominating his thin lips. When he reached out for her, Daenerys swiftly shook her head. “Oh no, it’s okay,” she said, imitating a weary voice, “I am feeling rather _tired_.”

“If you need to lie down, I know a place,” Joffrey said smoothly, and his voice was so polite that not even Rhaegar seemed to catch on.

But as Daenerys stared into his glimmering eyes, she knew exactly what he had in mind. “I am good, thanks,” she muttered, and Joffrey shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” He joined her side as the three of them stood watching the dancefloor, and it wasn’t until Joffrey laughed: “Would you look at that!” that Daenerys realised she recognised one of the dancers.

There, in the back, so far behind the crowd of elderly couples that she’d scarcely cared to look, Jon was dancing. He was dressed like the waiters, his white suit jacket contrasting his black hair nicely. When he moved, his curls danced around his square face, teasing his eyelashes and plump lips. The sight alone made Daenerys’ knees feel weak.

But it was not just Jon that caused Joffrey to scoff, but his partner too. He was not leading Margaery, but a red-haired woman. Her bright locks hung straight down her pale face, and her lips, red like blood, were pursed in a naughty smile as her eyes ate up Jon’s body. Her short, black dress left little to the imagination, her breasts barely kept in place when she twirled, and the scene caused Joffrey to grimace.

Still, as the woman caught his eyes, he sent her a bright smile.

“Joffrey!” she said and smacked her lips in a kiss, “aren’t my dancing lessons starting to pay off?”

“Melisandre!” he returned the greeting, “you look great. Terrific.” His voice was as fake as the woman’s long nails, yet she lolled her head about with a charming smile as she proceeded to dance with Jon. Joffrey lowered his voice as he turned to Daenerys to speak: “That’s Melisandre, one of the bungalow bunnies. That’s what we call the women who stay here all week, always without their husbands. Now that one,” he nodded at the red-haired woman, “she spends every paycheck on dancing with the bastard.”

“The bastard?” Daenerys said confused, causing Joffrey to cluck his tongue with a sad headshake.

His hand snuck onto her shoulder. It was clammy, but she could not shove him away, not if she wanted to hear what he knew. “It’s not a story fit for a lady’s ears, I’m afraid. Born out of wedlock, not a penny to his name. Not even a family to call his own.”

“I thought Robb was his brother?” she mused.

Joffrey snorted. “Why, did he say that?” he asked and laughed. “No, Dany, Jon’s on his own. With his kind of attitude, I think we’re all better off that way. Rumour has it most of his lessons are taught horizontally, if you know what I mean.” At this, he gave her shoulder a squeeze, and Daenerys tucked her arms around her body as her eyes slipped from Joffrey to Jon.

 _So he is just a player?_ Daenerys thought. Still, when his grey eyes moved from Melisandre’s face to meet hers, their gazes locking across the dance floor, she felt herself tremble with want all the same.

“Hey, _entertainment staff_ ,” Joffrey called and snapped his fingers. He left Daenerys’ side as he pushed between the couples to reach Jon, and with a tug at his arm he dragged him out of the dance. “Where’s Margaery? I’ve had loads of men asking for her. Someone needs to do the cha cha around here.”

“What do you mean, where’s Margaery?” Jon asked. His whole attitude seemed to change - his hands slipped into the pockets of his slacks, and he leaned forward to stare into Joffrey’s eyes. “She’s taking a break. She _needs_ a break.”

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed. He glanced from Daenerys to Jon and then huffed: “As long as it’s not an all-night break.” He then gave him a nod, waving for him to continue his dance, before trudging back to Daenerys. “Come on, doll, let’s go for a walk.”

Daenerys felt her stomach clench. “Sorry, Joffrey, as said - I am rather _tired_.” She glanced up at Rhaegar, hoping that her brother would come to her rescue. But he seemed too engaged with his glass of wine, his body rocking to the music, so when Joffrey pressed:

“A little air will wake you up,” she had no more excuses to give.

Together they walked the path alongside the lake, leaving behind the pavilion. A cool breeze blew in from across the water, causing Daenerys to wrap her cardigan tight around her small frame, and she glanced toward the trees on the other side, wondering how far the forest stretched.

At her side, Joffrey was quiet, but as they reached a wooden bridge built over a stream, he leaned in to trap her against its railing, his stare intense. “Dany,” he said, and Daenerys pressed her back tight to the wood, trying to create as much distance between them as possible. He smiled: “I love to watch your hair blow in the breeze.”

 _I should’ve tied it up,_ Daenerys scolded herself, seeing a grey lock flutter over her shoulder in the same.

Joffrey swirled it around his fingertips as he licked his lips. “It’s silver,” he stated, before glancing around for inspiration, clumsily adding: “Just like _the moon_.”

“Thanks?” she muttered.

Joffrey chuckled and leaned in close. His breath was wet, and when he smacked his lips, specks of spit flew through the air, making her blink. “You,” he breathed slowly, “are the prettiest girl here tonight, doll.”

When he leaned in, Daenerys leaned back. She felt her fingertips grip so harshly around the wood that she was certain to get splinters on her palms. The railing creaked from the weight of the two of them, and she found herself wishing that it would just give in and let them both tumble into the cold water. _Anything but this,_ she thought, watching his wriggling lips coming closer.

“I should go,” she stuttered, making him pause. She swallowed. “My brothers might be looking for me.” She knew for certain Viserys wasn’t, but something inside of her sensed that perhaps Rhaegar would be.

Joffrey, however, didn’t seem to agree. He shook his head with a smirk. “Dany, they know you’re with me. Seeing the two of us together will make them the happiest people at this resort.” He clucked his tongue and added: “And that’s saying a lot, seeing the way Melisandre danced tonight.”

Daenerys looked at him stumped, unable to come up with any words to speak, but Joffrey seemed to take her silence for admiration.

At least he straightened up, finally freeing her from the railing as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t mean to brag, but,” Joffrey faked a pause, rubbing his cheeks as if trying to encourage a blush to them, “I’m known as quite the catch around here.”

“I’m sure you are,” Daenerys said, almost amused by his arrogance.

Joffrey smiled and nodded. “Just last week, I took away a girl from Robb - he’s that lanky lad Jon calls his brother. Anyway, he asked her: _what has he got that I don’t?_ And you know what she said?” He hesitated, waiting for Daenerys to shake her head before chuckling: “She replied: _two hotels_!”

As Joffrey descended into a laughing fit, Daenerys watched him blankly, her own lips pursed into a tight pout. She felt like a wildlife observator, thinking to herself that he surely could not be convinced that his story was charming. All the same, he wiped tears from his eyes, his lips tucked far back into a grin as he wheezed:

“I am just that big a deal!”

It was then she heard it. It was a sob, so soft it almost drowned in the sound of Joffrey trying to compose himself. Daenerys stirred, her ears perked as she tried to listen for the noise again, and she turned toward the railing, glancing across the water with curious eyes. Then again - another noise, this time a hearty whimper, and it caused her to glance down, following the stream under the bridge until she saw -

 _Oh my God!_ Daenerys gawked as she made eye-contact with Margaery. There she sat in the dark shadow on the bridge, her slender framed huddled against the cold stone, and though she was elegantly dressed in shimmering jewelry and silks, there was nothing glamorous about her. Her brown hair was sticking in every direction, her cheeks were dirtied with running make-up, and her whole body shivered as she tried to hold her breath. This was a far cry from the snooty woman she’d been on the beach, even more from the confident dancer she’d seen in the ballroom. _She looks broken,_ Daenerys realised, her heart hurting at the thought.

Joffrey was finally calming down, his laughter subsiding, and he joined Daenerys at her side, giving her a breathless smile. “What are you looking at, Dany?” he asked and leaned over the side of the bridge. Before he could look down, though, Daenerys swiftly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him away. Her own strength surprised her, and it seemed to shock Joffrey too, because he blinked at her with round eyes. “Dany?”

“Oh, Joffrey, I think-” Daenerys started but stopped, her mind buzzing as it tried to search for an explanation for her actions. Her fingertips at his shirt shivered. She realised that she must be looking scared, so she said: “I think I saw a rat!”

“A rat!” Joffrey clucked his tongue and shook his head. “No such thing around here,” he said amused, but Daenerys insisted:

“I saw it. It was large. Perhaps not a rat. Maybe a bobcat?”

“You can’t mistake a bobcat for a rat,” Joffrey said, but even he sounded a bit concerned now. He glanced toward the railing, and for a moment Daenerys worried if he would attempt to have a peek, but then his arm slipped around her waist, and he dragged her in the direction of the pavilion. “You seem awake now,” he said, sending her a frail smile, “I think we should head back.”

“I agree,” Daenerys said and returned his smile. Still as they walked, she couldn’t help but glance back toward the bridge, wondering if Margaery was hurt.

* * *

It seemed the idea of a wild animal had put a fright in Joffrey. At least they barely reached the glow from the lanterns before he excused himself, insisting that his grandfather needed him. He was in such a hurry to get back to the main building that he didn’t even notice that he passed by Tywin on the way.

It was all the same to Daenerys - the moment he was out of sight, she rushed between the chattering guests, trying to spot _anyone_ who might be able to assist. It was Robb who caught her eyes. He was walking up the steps to the pavilion, a bunch of vinyl records in his hands, and he almost dropped them in surprise when she ran up and grabbed him by the arm.

“I need your help,” she urged, and Robb sent her a puzzled look.

“Dany, I’m working,” he said, and he held up the record sleeves for her to see. “I need to find a waltz.” He turned to keep walking, but what she said next stopped him in his steps:

“It’s Margaery. I think she might be injured. I found her crying alone.”

He spun back around and sent her a worried look. “Where is she?”

“By the bridge,” Daenerys said and gestured in the general direction. Her heartbeat was in her throat. She had managed to remain calm on her stroll back with Joffrey, but now she could feel the panic setting in. She took in a sharp breath to clear her mind as she stated: “The white one by the stream. She’s sat under it.”

“Hold on.” Robb skipped the steps and disappeared into the dancing crowd. For a hot second, Daenerys held her breath as she wondered if he would be back, but then he returned, Jon right at his heels. The black-haired man didn’t even offer her a second glance, he just stormed right past her as he headed across the lawn, and it was Robb who pulled her by the shoulder as he said: “Come with.”

As the three of them dashed alongside the lake, Jon called: “Why’s she here?”

“I brought her in case Joffrey comes back,” Robb explained. He glanced from Daenerys to Jon as he added: “She’s the one who found her.”

“Margaery just doesn’t think,” Jon hissed through gritted teeth.

“She wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she?” Robb asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Daenerys tried to follow the conversation while not falling behind. Her shoes gnawed at her feet as she skipped across the stony path, the bridge finally coming into view. “What’s the matter?” she asked, watching Jon’s nape as she spoke. Her voice was slightly out of breath. “What’s wrong with her?” When she first spotted Margaery, she’d thought she could be hurt, but from the way the guys spoke, she gathered something else was going on. When Robb sent her a pained look, she desperately repeated: “What?”

“She’s knocked up, Dany,” he said.

“Robb!” Jon sighed. “She doesn’t have to know.”

Daenerys felt her heart drop. “She’s pregnant?” she whispered, and she gawked at Robb as she gestured toward Jon and said: “What’s he going to do about it?”

Before Robb could reply, Jon turned on his heels and sent Daenerys a glare. “ _What’s he going to do about it?_ ” he repeated her words, making her go bright red. She’d thought herself quiet. Now all she wanted to do was to disappear into the water never to be seen again - but Jon’s harsh stare kept her in place. “Oh, so it’s mine, right? You think it’s mine.”

“I just thought-” she stuttered, but Jon didn’t let her finish. With a sneer he stomped ahead, making his way beneath the bridge, and all Daenerys could do was to follow, her stomach suddenly tight with pain.

By the time she caught up with him, he was already hugging Margaery tight. In the dark shadows from the bridge, she could just make out the shape of his white jacket as he wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms warm through the fabric. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” his voice soothed her, “I’m never going to let anything happen to you.”

 _He’s so gentle_ , Daenerys thought, and she bit her lower lip as she watched himss wipe away Margaery’s tears. _How can a man be so angry in one moment, but so kind in the next?_ She thought back on her brother Viserys whose kindness was always a disguise for darker emotions, yet nothing about Jon seemed harmful when he picked up Margaery and carried her out from beneath the bridge.

“We can’t stay here,” he said to no one in particular, and Robb nodded.

“We’ll go to the staff quarters,” he suggested.

Jon shook his head. “It’s too far - what if we run into Joffrey?”

“He’s gone to the main building,” Daenerys said, and the brothers quieted as they looked at her. Whilst Robb’s eyes were neutral, Jon’s grey ones seemed hesitant. She felt herself blush under his stare, but her voice remained confident as she continued: “I promise. I saw him off myself.”

Jon took in a deep breath, and Daenerys could tell that he was battling with the idea of trusting her. Then, after a pause, he nodded. “Lead on,” he said in a gruff voice, “in case he shows up.”

Daenerys breathed out in relief and nodded. “Follow me.”

* * *

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Jon’s voice echoed loudly in the open space. As Daenerys tiptoed inside, she almost felt like she was intruding, and when Jon met her gaze, she quickly held up the bottle she’d been carrying and offered: “Merlot?”

Without the music and dancers, the top floor room appeared empty. Wherever she looked, Daenerys saw old furniture and crates of empty bottles, and she realised that the space was probably meant for storage. _The parties really are a secret,_ she thought as she walked over to the corner sofa to hand Robb the wine.

“I was thinking whiskey,” he said as he grabbed the bottle.

Daenerys shrugged. “It was all I could find,” she replied, her voice meek. She tucked her cardigan around her body as she glanced across the three of them: Jon, seated askew the armrest, one foot resting on the low coffee table. Robb, sat on the other end, his hands wrestling to unscrew the bottle. Margaery, still huddled up in Jon’s jacket, her body squeezed in between the brothers.

With nowhere to sit, Daenerys awkwardly stood and listened as Jon continued his rant.

“You’re in trouble, you talk to me. I’ll take care of it,” he said, his eyes resting on Margaery. “You should’ve come to me in the first place.”

“Forget it, Jon, I’m not taking what’s left of your salary,” she sighed. She rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing the black mascara across her pink skin. With a sigh, she eyed her darkened knuckles as she continued: “Besides, it wouldn’t be enough.” After a pause, her tired face screwed into an agonising grimace. As she started sobbing, Robb managed to uncork the bottle, and he swiftly shoved it into her hands.

“You’ll feel better,” he promised, and Margaery took a big gulp straight from the neck.

“Oh God,” she choked, slamming the bottle down onto the table as she buried her face in her hands, wine dripping from her lips. “It’s _hopeless_!”

“Don’t say that,” Daenerys begged. She wasn’t sure from where she got the courage to speak, but once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She stepped closer to the sofa, her hands pushed to her chest as she tried to calm her aching heart. Just days earlier, she’d seen Margaery dance, her face exuding confidence, and she’d never imagined that a woman with such strength could be beaten down. Yet, there she sat, wailing in an empty room, and all she could do was offer a weak: “There’s got to be a way to work it out.”

Margaery sniffed in and lifted her head from her hands. Her brown eyes seemed dark as she stared at Daenerys. “Dany? Is that your name?” she sobbed, and Daenerys mindlessly felt herself bob her head. “Well, you know what, Dany? You don’t know shit about my problems.”

Daenerys parted her lips to speak, but before she could say a word, Robb rocked his head back and stared at the ceiling as he admitted:

“I told her.”

“Jesus!” Margaery stared at him in disbelief, and Daenerys noted how red Robb’s cheeks went. He averted his eyes, but the blush remained as she scolded him: “Now she’ll tell her little management boyfriend and we’ll all get fired. Good job, Robb - you’re a true saint!” She grabbed the bottle of wine, downing another few gulps. As Jon reached for it, she shoved it into his hands with a gasp for air. “Why not skywrite it?” she continued in a slur, “ _Margaery got knocked up by Viserys!_ ”

“Viserys?” Daenerys gawked. At once she felt faint as she sensed the walls closing in on her. A buzzing started in her head. She wasn’t sure how to tune it out. “Did you say Viserys?” she repeated breathlessly.

“Yes, that fucking creep,” Margaery spat. “Silver hair, violet eyes - you know him?”

“Know him?” Daenerys muttered. It was then she sensed all eyes on her, and in the same moment that she realised her brother’s actions, it seemed the three of them understood her connection. “He’s-”

“It’s her freaking brother,” Margaery gasped.

Jon shook his head, his eyes big. “Should’ve known she’s a Targaryen,” he said, and his voice was thick with anger.

Daenerys swallowed, and though everything in her screamed not to speak, she still asked: “What’s that meant to mean?” Her voice came out like a whimper. She felt herself cling onto her cardigan as if she’d fall if she let go, and when Jon’s grey eyes captured hers, she truly felt all air was knocked out of her. The kindness he’d shown, the naughty way he’d eyed her when they danced - it was all gone and replaced with pure hatred.

“You’re just like the rest of these rich folks,” he said, “you come, you claim - and then you fly off to Volantis, leaving all your rubbish behind.”

Not knowing what to say, Daenerys just stuttered: “I’ve never been abroad,” making Jon roll his eyes. He looked like he was about to say something else, but before he could get any further, Robb jumped to his feet.

“Dany,” he said, grabbing around her shoulders as he held her in place. She was almost grateful for the touch - she felt like she was about to collapse. When he spoke, she had to concentrate hard to hear his voice over the chaos that was erupting inside her head. _Viserys got Margaery pregnant,_ a voice called to her again and again. _Your brother knocked her up, Dany._ “Listen to me,” Robb said and looked her in the eyes. “One of the counsellors knows a doctor, a real M.D., travelling through Lannisport next week. We can get an appointment, but it costs.”

“How much?” Daenerys asked.

Robb paused. “250 dollars.”

Daenerys nodded mindlessly. She knew it to be a lot of money, however she was also well aware of the cash Viserys would spend at home on nonsensical stuff like a fine case of cigars, a new silk shirt, or just a meal to impress his friends. Though she could barely think straight, she was still able to say: “If it’s Viserys,” and she hesitated, knowing how it might come across, so she started over, her voice as neutral and sensible as possible: “Viserys has got the money, I know this. If you just tell him-”

“He knows.” Margaery cut her off with a sad smile. As Daenerys looked into her brown eyes, she woman just shook her head and scoffed: “Go back to your playpen, Dany. Let the grown-ups talk.”

Daenerys breathed in sharply, and her eyes darted from her to Jon. He only met her gaze shortly before turning the bottle of wine between his hands, closing his eyes, and leaning his head back as he had a few gulps. When she looked to Robb, he too was averting his eyes, the blue in them shimmering with sadness.

 _They all think I’m just some silly girl,_ she thought, and she couldn’t even blame them. When she backed toward the door, no one tried to stop her, and with one last glance at Jon, she turned, hurried out of the room, and ran downstairs.

As she darted across the lawn towards the cottages, her cardigan blowing in the breeze, she thought to herself: _I have to talk to Viserys. I must make him understand. I must_. Yet her heart quivered with the knowledge of her brother’s indifference, and as Margaery’s shivering, sobbing face entered her mind once more, she bit her teeth tightly together and picked up her pace. She thought there must be a light rain in the air. At least when she touched her cheeks, her fingers pulled away wet.

* * *

Viserys had a drag of his cigarette whilst he watched Daenerys. His eyes were bored, she could tell, and they only seemed to lighten up once he blew the smoke back out at her, causing her to cough. “Since when is it your business to tell me what’s right?” he asked.

Daenerys waved her hand in front of her nose with a grimace. “Well, you can’t just leave her,” she insisted.

Her brother scoffed. “You want me to bail out some chick who probably balled every guy on the resort?” He shook his head with a smirk. “You’re gullible, Dany. Sweet, but gullible.”

The pale morning light shone coldly on the blue sky, its heat not reaching them in the shadows of the terrace. Viserys was slouched against the wall, cigarette in one hand and a ceramic ashtray in the other. Whenever a guest walked past, he swiftly hid both behind his back and sent them a bright smile. Daenerys, however, he only cared to grimace at.

“She says it’s yours,” Daenerys persisted. When Viserys rolled his eyes, she stepped closer to him, trying to catch his gaze. “Are you listening?”

“She says it’s mine because I’ve got cash,” he replied dully. His breath rolled across her face, and the ashes in the air made her eyes sting. “Tomorrow, she’ll probably claim Joffrey bedded her.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “Did you, though?” she asked, making Viserys quirk his brows.

“Did I what?”

“Sleep with her.”

A smile played on his face. He slowly pushed the cigarette back between his lips as he had another drag. His movements were lazy - it was as if he had all the time in the world, and his careless attitude made Daenerys’ blood boil. As she stood waiting for his reply, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she took in a sharp breath.

Growing tired of waiting, she finally asked: “Why not just pay her?” She crossed her arms and raised her brows at his vexed face. “You’ve got the money. Surely the Lannisters are not having you work for free?”

“Dany,” Viserys finally said, and he snubbed out his smoke in the ashtray, “if I had to pay every woman I fuck, I’d be bankrupt in a week.”

 _You’d be so lucky,_ Daenerys thought spitefully, but she knew better than to say it aloud. “It’s not every woman though, is it? You got her _pregnant_.” She paused, the word like a knot in her throat, and she had to swallow to force down the taste of bile that was building in her body. She couldn’t believe that she was having to argue such a simple point with her brother, and yet it was exactly what she’d expected of him. With a notion of desperation to her voice, she asked: “Do you not care at all?”

“Some people count, some people don’t,” Viserys said and smacked his lips. He reached into his suit jacket, and from an inner pocket he withdrew a worn paperback. As he handed it to her, Daenerys stared at the front in disbelief. _No Happy Endings_ , the title read. “You should read it - Ramsay Bolton,” Viserys said, tapping his fingertips to the cover. “Now, that man knows women.”

Daenerys dropped the book to the ground with a headshake. “You make me sick.”

“Must be hard being so perfect,” Viserys mocked her and scrounged his nose.

“All you had to do was keep your trousers zipped,” Daenerys retorted. When she glared into his eyes, she felt her cheeks burning with anger. “Rhaegar worked so hard to get you this job, and all you do is create a mess.”

Viserys let go of a loud laugh. “I made a mess?” he repeated and looked at her amused. “I’m not the one who got pregnant, Dany.” He leaned down to pick up his paperback, stuffed it into his suit jacket, and then shoved the full ashtray into her hands. “Now,” he said, leaning in close to her as he smirked. The air between them was heavy with smoke, and when she breathed in, she could almost taste bitterness as he said: “Be a good girl and go wash that out for me.”

For a second, Daenerys stood staring at him in shock. Then, before she could stop herself, she tipped the tray over, spilling ashes and cigarette butts down Viserys’ white jacket. The moment the black dust settled over his front, he yelped and started brushing at it in panic, causing the ashes to rub deeper into the fabric.

“What the hell, Dany!” he cried. “Look at what you did!”

“I didn’t do that,” she said innocently, “after all - _I don’t smoke._ ” With a triumphant air about her, she turned on her heels and marched away from him, crossing the lawn on her way toward the cottages. Behind her, she could hear her brother swearing, but his words were drowned out by the worries in her mind. As soon as Margaery’s face popped into her thoughts, the feeling of smugness left her at once, and she hugged herself as she slowed her steps, thinking: _What am I going to do?_

Daenerys didn’t have any money. If she were to pick out every coin from her purse and sacrifice her emergency collection, perhaps she could total five dollars. She was still a year away from having access to the inheritance her late father had left her, and Margaery simply didn’t have the time to wait. She needed the cash immediately.

As Daenerys searched her mind for answers, she realised that she knew only three people in the world who could afford the procedure. The first was Viserys who received his part of the inheritance upon turning eighteen. _But he’s likely to have spent most of it,_ she mused, _and whatever he’s got left, he’s proven unwilling to part with._ The second person was Joffrey, but even just thinking about asking the sleazy man for money made her shiver - especially when she wondered what he would ask for in return. Then there was Rhaegar.

Daenerys paused as she laid eyes on him. He was stood outside their cottage, carefully inspecting a golf club. His white trousers sat high on his waist, the yellow polo neatly tucked into them, and she thought she saw his face flush with embarrassment as she approached.

“Dany,” he said surprised and swiftly popped the club into his bag. He hoisted it over his shoulder. “I thought you’d headed for breakfast.”

“I thought you were still in bed,” she said and looked him over.

Rhaegar pulled at the collar of his shirt, and his voice was almost shy when he asked: “Do I look ridiculous?”

“You look like Arnold Palmer,” Daenerys said.

“Is that good or bad?” Rhaegar asked, but before she could reply, he continued in haste: “It’s Tywin. He invited me to his golf course. Apparently it’s what the Lannisters do when vacationing.”

“I didn’t know you could play,” she said and cocked her head.

Rhaegar shrugged. “Perhaps it’ll be fun.”

 _You go to parties you don’t want to attend, and you play games you don’t care for,_ Daenerys thought, her eyes narrowing a little, _All to ensure Viserys’ success._ She felt her chest burn. She pressed a hand to her bosom to calm her heart. “I think someone’s in trouble.”

“I know I am,” Rhaegar sighed and shook his head. “It’s just a friendly match. It’s better to let the host win anyway, keeps them sweet.”

“No, not you,” Daenerys said and bit her lower lip. She felt herself jittery from what she was about to ask, and the nervousness must’ve shown in her eyes, because once Rhaegar met her gaze, his face changed. Instead of seeming shy, his lips twisted into a grave line on his face, his eyes darkening with concern. “You always told me that if someone’s in trouble, I should try to help.”

“I have,” Rhaegar agreed, though his voice sounded uncertain. He slowly dropped the bag of clubs as he crossed his arms expectantly.

“Well,” Daenerys said, and she took in a deep breath before simply asking: “Can I borrow 250 dollars?”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Rhaegar questioned with furrowed brows. He didn’t look angry, just worried, and Daenerys found it made asking all the harder.

“No,” she assured him and quickly shook her head, “it’s not for me. Can you loan it to me?”

“It’s a lot of money. What’s it for?”

Daenerys’ teeth sunk deeper into her lower lip as she mumbled: “I can’t say.”

Rhaegar’s stare was intense. She felt like he was trying to see into her head, carefully dissect her thoughts and discover the truth. “Remember what I told you? You can tell me anything,” he said. “ _Anything_.”

As she looked into his eyes, Daenerys thought: _I want to tell you._ How easy it would be - pinpoint Viserys as the culprit. Lead Rhaegar to Margaery. Have him assist her through the next few difficult months. She knew her brother would not hesitate to take her into the family and force Viserys to do right by her. But she also knew that it was not her decision to make, more so at what he said next:

“It’s nothing illegal, is it?”

She wanted to laugh, not because she was amused, but because of how hopeless she felt. For she realised that outing Viserys would also mean closing off Margaery’s chance of getting an abortion. Her brother was kind, but he was also a stickler for rules, and she could not imagine Rhaegar willingly handing over any cash if he knew what it would buy.

So she put on her best smile. “No,” she lied and shook her head, her eyes wide and honest, “of course not.”

Rhaegar’s attitude seemed to melt. He let go of a deep sigh. “Of course not,” he agreed, “that was stupid of me to ask. Forgive me.” He reached out and pulled Daenerys into a hug, and she pressed her nose to his neck, smelling his aftershave.

She was shivering, she realised, and he held her close, likely thinking that he’d upset her. But it was guilt that was making her quiver like a leaf in the wind, and she fought hard to mask it when he pulled away to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll have it for you before dinner,” he promised.

“Thank you,” she said and averted her eyes, unable to meet his kind smile.

* * *

From the record player, Maurice Williams & the Zodiac’s ‘Stay’ was playing. Daenerys carefully pushed through the moving crowd, her eyes scanning the room for known faces. She could smell sweat and beer, and in the dimmed lighting everyone seemed to melt into one, the dancing bodies rubbing tight.

It was only when she tip-toed that she caught sight of Robb by the bar and, once he waved at her, Jon and Margaery. They turned on the floor to see who he was gesturing at, and Jon’s face turned to a scowl the moment he laid eyes on her. It made her stomach clench, but she braved on, nodding for Margaery to follow her as paused next to Robb, her back nestled against the counter.

“What does she want?” Jon asked and grabbed a bottle off the counter. He opened it with a tug between his teeth and threw the cap aside.

Daenerys bit her teeth together and dragged her eyes from him to Margaery. She was watching her with confusion, but her brown eyes soon widened as Daenerys pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to her. “Here’s the money,” she simply said.

Margaery’s fingers gently closed around the notes. Daenerys almost expected her to count it, but instead she whispered in excitement: “Did Viserys give you this?”

Daenerys felt her heart ache as she shook her head. “No, you were right about my brother,” she said with regret.

“Then where’d you get it?”

“You said you needed it,” Daenerys shrugged, feeling her cheeks go light pink at Margaery’s insistent enquiring. She sensed that the woman was about to let it go when Robb said:

“That’s really good of you,” making Jon scoff.

“Is it?” the black-haired man sneered and had a gulp of the beer. His plump lips smacked as he tasted the bitterness on his tongue. “Real good job asking Daddy for cash.”

Daenerys’ cheeks went even darker, and she tried to remain upbeat though Jon’s words made her toes curl in annoyance. “Rhaegar is not-” she started, but she found she couldn’t even be bothered to explain it anymore. She gestured at the cash in Margaery’s hand and said: “It’s yours.”

Margaery was clutching onto the wad of money so tightly that her fingertips were going white. Still, after a beat, she pushed it back into Daenerys’ hands. “Thanks, Dany,” she said, and this time her voice had no hint of malice to it when she spoke her name. She almost sounded sorry. “I can’t use it.”

“I really don’t mind,” Daenerys stuttered, but Margaery just shook her head and looked away. “Look, I don’t expect you to pay it back. It’s the least I can do - it’s yours.” Still, the woman backed away, and even Jon eyed her, his face vexed.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Like she says - it’s the least she can do. _Take_ the money.”

As Margaery didn’t speak, Robb turned to Daenerys and sighed: “I can only get her an appointment for Thursday.” He glanced from the money to Daenerys’ eyes, the glance in them sad. “They do their act at the Golden Tooth on Thursdays.”

“Can’t they just cancel?” Daenerys asked, her voice quiet as the look in Robb’s eyes already told her otherwise.

He shook his head. “If they cancel, they lose this season’s salary _and_ next year’s gig.”

“What’s the Golden Tooth?”

“It’s another hotel where they do their mambo act.”

Daenerys glanced toward Jon in confusion. “Can’t someone else fill in?” she asked.

Jon let go of a mocking laugh, and he turned to Daenerys with an exasperated sigh. “No, Miss Know-it-all, someone else _can’t_ fill in. I don’t know how it works for you rich folk, but we-” at this he gestured across the dancing crowd of staff members, “-we have to work for our wages. Everyone has to work for their money. No one can fill in.” He slammed the bottle down onto the counter, making Daenerys jump. With a haughty glimpse to his eyes, he stared her down as he jested: “Do you want to do it?”

There was a tense pause. Margaery huddled up in her dress. Daenerys pushed back against the counter, Jon’s eyes keeping her in place. Robb looked between them and then shrugged:

“It’s not a bad idea.”

Jon’s lips curved into a wry smile. As he answered, he still didn’t look away from Daenerys: “It was a joke, Robb.”

“She can move,” Robb muttered.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her _walk_ ,” Jon rolled his eyes.

“Jon is right,” Daenerys mumbled and eyed her shoes. “I can’t even merengue.”

“You’re a strong teacher,” Margaery interjected. She placed her hand on Jon’s arm, forcing him to look away from Daenerys. “You can show her.”

“She can’t even merengue!” Jon threw his arms up with hopelessness.

“You can at least try,” Robb insisted.

“She’s a _Targaryen_ ,” Jon finally sneered, and he spun on his heels to face Robb and Daenerys. In his bright eyes, Daenerys found only anger, and she felt herself crumble together against the counter. It was by sheer force that she made herself straighten up and say:

“So what!” Her voice was weaker than she’d like.

Jon looked like a wolf who’d smelled blood. “So what?” he repeated with another of his false laughs. “So everything! Don’t you think your brother has done enough harm?”

“She’s not her brother,” Robb spoke.

“She’s still one of them.”

Robb grabbed Jon by the arm as he was about to turn away. “One of what?” he asked, but before Jon could say else, he hissed: “Listen to yourself, Jon. You of all people should know what it’s like to be judged.” At his words, Jon wrestled his arm free, but he gave his brother a meek look as he continued: “We don’t choose our family. But we choose our actions.” He glanced at Daenerys and pointed to the money in her hands.

Jon looked over at her, and Daenerys puffed up her chest as she met his gaze straight on. She could feel her mouth go dry. Her knees shivered. Her skin crawled with a need to run and never return. But she also knew that she could not let the man’s arrogance win, so when approached, his steps slow and his grey eyes narrowed, she didn’t falter but spoke:

“So, what will it be?”

Jon looked her up and down. She almost felt naked the way he inspected her, his stare thorough. By the time he met her gaze again, he scoffed.

“What indeed,” he muttered.

* * *

The moment the music started, Daenerys stepped ahead - and felt her sneakers dig right into Jon’s shoe.

“No!” he yelped with a grimace, making her scurry back.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry.”

“You don’t step on the one,” he sighed and stomped back toward the record player to start the music over. Daenerys watched him go with shy eyes as she muttered:

“Right, sorry.”

The staff room seemed eerily empty. With no one but the two of them, the music echoed loudly between the walls, and Daenerys felt strangely exposed now that she couldn’t hide her awkward movements behind anyone. It was very different from the first time she’d danced with Jon, she realised. Then, he’d been naughty, flirty, and kind. Now he was pushy, frustrated, and _tough_. She felt it in the way he carelessly dragged the needle back to the start of the song before he grabbed her by the arm and waist, his hold strong.

“Start on the two,” he said, “ _Find_ the two.”

“You know, I’ve never danced like this before,” Daenerys said, careful not to admit that she’d never really danced _at all_.

Jon’s eyes narrowed, and he dragged her by the hand until she was forced to straighten up. “One, two, three four,” he said, noting the rhythm of the music. “Do you hear it?”

“One, two, three four,” Daenerys repeated, but she wasn’t sure she really sensed the beat.

“When the song starts, you start on the two,” he reminded her, and she bobbed her head so swiftly her hair jumped about.

“Got it,” she said. She felt herself tense as she perked her ears, intensely listening to the music, and he must have felt how her whole frame stiffened, for he dragged his fingers down her arms until he could take a hold of her hands. Then he gave them a good shake.

“Relax,” he urged, and he cocked his head to meet her gaze. Once they locked eyes, he raised his brows. “Okay? Relax.” He shook her arms some more until she felt her muscles melt a little, and she nodded, a small smile on her lips.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Jon lifted her arms, requesting: “Frame,” and he held her ready in position, his black lashes almost fluttering closed as he allowed himself to get lost in the music.

One. Two. Three. Four. One - Daenerys stepped ahead, making him yelp again:

“I said two!”

“And I said sorry!” Daenerys raised her arms as Jon rolled his eyes and once more stomped his way back to the record player. As he pushed the needle, she saw his head shake, his black curls jumping about. “What?”

“It’s hopeless,” he said through gritted teeth. “I told Robb it wouldn’t work.”

“It’s only been an hour,” Daenerys reminded him. She tried to keep her voice calm, but she could hear her own tone rise. “It will take more than an hour.”

“I shouldn’t even have to do this,” he said.

Daenerys took in a shivering breath as she yelled: “Well, neither should I!”

She hadn’t realised how loud her words sounded, but they lashed against the walls. When Jon turned to look at her, his eyes were big and perplexed. She watched his face; his red cheeks, the sheen of sweat across his forehead, the Adam’s apple jumping in his neck as he swallowed. She wondered if she looked as messy, and she instinctively wiped her cheeks off in her hands and sensed how they got clammy with sweat. _Great_.

“I’m not doing it for me,” she reminded him. “I’m doing it for Margaery.”

“I thought you were doing it for your brother,” Jon said as he approached her.

Daenerys frowned. “I would do anything for Rhaegar, but Viserys?” She shook her head and glanced down at her shoes. They were as bright white as her jeans, the denim uncomfortable against her sticky legs. She shuffled in them as she sighed: “I suppose I feel guilty.”

The music picked up again. Neither of them moved for a second. Then, Jon grabbed her hands and led her into the right position as he noted: “One, two, three, four. Got it?”

Daenerys glanced up into his eyes and gave him a weak nod. On two, she moved, and he led her back and forth in a series of simple steps before urging:

“Good - again.”

Daenerys almost smiled. Then she stepped on one-

“ _On two!”_ Jon barked.

Daenerys grimaced: “Sorry!”

Jon sighed and let go of her hands. He walked in a circle, scratching the back of his head as he seemed to wreck his mind, and Daenerys mindlessly watched him as she hugged her small frame. She felt stupid, like she was a silly girl being schooled by her teacher, and she wasn’t really sure where to look when he turned and walked toward her. There was a stride in his steps. It was as if his body commanded the room, and it made her feel shy.

 _I want to change the world,_ she thought and eyed the floor, the boards creaking as he approached, _but I can’t even change myself._

Once his shoes came into view, she let her gaze slowly wander up. Past his black slacks, the fabric of them sitting nicely on his strong legs, and the tucked in shirt, the blue loose around his sturdy body. He had undone the first few buttons, allowing the air to caress his reddened skin, and she could see the outline of his pecs. She caught herself wondering what he looked like shirtless.

“Don’t think of the mambo,” he said, and he licked his lips as his eyes darted around the room. She could tell he was struggling with his words, so she stood at attention, her eyes resting on his face as he spoke. “It’s a feeling,” he spoke with a grimace, clearly not satisfied with the analogy. “It’s a…” He pressed his hands to his chest as he searched for the right word, and Daenerys watched how his steady blood flow made a vein in his throat jump.

It made her suggest: “Heartbeat?”

Jon snapped his fingers. “Exactly.” He spread his fingers on his chest, above his heart, and empathized: “Ga-gung, ga-gung,” mimicking its beat.

Daenerys poked her tongue to her inner cheek as she tried not to smile, and she placed her own hand on her bosom as she tapped along with him. “Ga-gung,” she repeated, and Jon shook his head.

“Don’t try so hard,” he said. “Here.” He reached out, and she placed her hand in his, perplexed at what he was about to do. Then, he dragged her close, pressing her palm flat to his chest. As she flushed, Jon spoke: “Ga-gung,” once more breathing in rhythm with his heart, and Daenerys felt her stomach flutter as her fingertips pushed into the softness of the shirt. She could feel him - his heartbeat took over her body in a shiver, and it felt like its rhythm was mixing with her own.

“I feel it,” she whispered, and she sensed that she truly did.

“Close your eyes,” Jon instructed, and Daenerys let her lids sink down. In the darkness, she felt his heartbeat, his fingertips tapping to her hand, the music, the floor. “Two, three, four,” Jon counted, tapping her hand to his chest in the same, and she nodded. “Two, three, four-”

They started moving. It was the simplest of steps, Daenerys knew, but when she felt her body rock in the right direction, a thrill went down her spine all the same. Soon, her hand slipped from Jon’s chest into his as he led her arms up once more, guiding her into the right stance as they danced.

As her eyes fluttered open once more, she stared into Jon’s greys, and she thought: _Perhaps I can do it._ Soon, his grey were replaced by brown, the image of Margaery lingering in her mind, and she bit her teeth together with determination. _No, not perhaps. I_ have _to do it._

__


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, Daenerys struggled her way through hours of dancing.

Often, Jon would be the one to lead. He would push at her back, urging her to straighten up. “You don’t slouch,” he said, “no one pays to see you slouch. You stand tall - like royalty.” Other times, he would kick at her feet, reminding her that: “You don’t put your heel down!”

It didn’t matter how many times she protested:

“I didn’t!” - Jon would always roll his eyes and assure her that she did.

He would place her in front of the dusty staff room mirror and have her show off her steps again and again, brutally starting over the music whenever she stepped to the wrong side. “You need precision,” he told her, chiding her for turning on her right instead of her left.

“The end result is the same,” Daenerys said when she twirled, ending up at the same spot. “See?”

“It’s like following a map,” Jon said. “You can end up in the same place, but there’s a difference between climbing a mountain and walking around it.”

“Have you ever climbed a mountain?” Daenerys asked, watching his muscles work under his thin shirt, and he blushed and muttered:

“Just follow the map, Dany.”

But when Jon didn’t teach her, she found herself humming the music as her feet moved on their own accord. She danced up and down the steep set of stairs to the staff room until her knees ached, and when she missed a turn, she scolded herself the same way Jon did. “Concentrate, Dany, concentrate!” she hissed and climbed all the way up the hill to do it all over again.

Still, a few days were not enough to get her even remotely close to Margaery’s level. One warm morning, as she rushed into the resort’s dance studio a few minutes late, she was met with the sight of Jon and Margaery dominating the floor.

As she stood in the doorway, out of breath and warm despite wearing just shorts and a tank top, she felt faint seeing the way the two of them gracefully crossed the floor, swung and twirled, their bodies knowing every beat of the music before it even played. By the time they saw her and paused, she was nauseous, and it was with hesitant steps that she walked up to Jon and took his hand as he offered it.

“Ready to dance?” he said, and Daenerys shrugged though she put her arms into position. She wasn’t sure whether her confidence was lacking having seen the two of them twirl, or if Jon was merely caught up in the heat of a good dance, but he roughly grabbed at her arms as he clucked his tongue. “You need to lock your frame,” he scolded and shook her arms, easily breaking her out of the position, “look - spaghetti arms!”

Daenerys pulled her hands back with a sigh. “I’m still learning,” she said, earning herself a perplexed look from Jon.

“That’s why we’re here,” he nodded, though there was some confusion to his voice. He gestured in front of himself. “Look, this is my dance space,” he said, and he grabbed at her arms as he led her into the right stand once more. “This,” he nodded at the space in front of her, “is yours. I don’t go into your space, so you don’t go into mine. When you have spaghetti arms,” he waved her arms once more, causing her cheeks to redden in annoyance, “our spaces mix.”

“I get it,” Daenerys spoke through gritted teeth. She could feel Margaery’s eyes on her as she clumsily stepped about, suddenly forgetting everything he’d shown her. He must have sensed her awkwardness, because he finally let her go as he stepped aside and gestured for Margaery to come over.

As Margaery held up her hands, Daenerys shyly placed hers flatly onto them. “Mirror each other,” Jon said as he stepped back to reset the music.

Margaery shortly glanced after him before smiling at Daenerys. “You’re doing fine,” she promised her in a whisper.

Daenerys licked her lips as she eyed Jon herself. “He makes me feel _stupid_ ,” she muttered.

“He speaks highly of you,” Margaery said, making Daenerys’ eyes snap back to her. As she glanced into her brown, she found them smiling back at her. “Really, he does.”

Daenerys parted her lips to speak, but Jon clapped his hands and bellowed: “Get going!” and Margaery rolled her eyes and started rocking her body, leading Daenerys on.

As the two of them moved even Daenerys felt a smile spread across her lips, and under Jon’s careful watch the two of them danced, mirroring each other through the song.

* * *

The rain hammered down outside, making every surface of the resort shine. Jon had flung the windows wide open, and Daenerys could smell the soaked ground as they danced. After hours of training, the wet breeze seeping in was a welcome relief from the sweat that was clinging on to her warm body. Her every muscle ached, and her mind was heavy from remembering the next steps she had to take, and she could barely focus on Jon’s lips as he spoke:

“Okay, so now the turn.” He held on to her hand as he turned her around - once, twice -, making her pink skirt flutter around her legs. “Good,” he said, catching her with ease once she faced him again, and his strong hands closed at her waist. For the third time that day, he said: “And then the lift-”, his breathing heavy and his eyes brimming with concentration that she thought:

 _This is it. This time he will show me_ , and she prepared herself for being hoisted into the air, her body straight as a board.

But instead he continued: “You will learn that later.”

The disappointment filled her stomach, and when he dragged her down to their final position, she felt herself tumble and she clumsily grab onto his shoulder, causing him to slip to the floor with a groan.

“Come on, Dany!” he yelled as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Sorry,” Daenerys muttered. She knelt, her skirt spreading around her frame, and she played with the hemline as Jon started walking the space of the room.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, his voice shaking with anger. “Is that your idea of fun?”

“Yes, actually it is!” She rolled her eyes before glaring at him, her jaw clenched. He was as dripping wet as she - his thin shirt was clinging onto his skin, and his slacks were tight on his legs, his knees seemingly shivering as much as hers. She rolled onto her feet, standing straight in front of him as she crossed her arms. “You know we’re supposed to do the show in two days? You won’t show me the lifts. I don’t know how to do the turns.” She waved her arms about in exhaustion before pushing a drenched silver lock out of her face as she cried: “I really want to drop you on it!”

For a moment, Jon just watched her. His body was bent over as he leaned onto his legs, panting for air as she spoke. His grey eyes rode up her body to meet with hers. She expected anger. She did not expect him to say: “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

Daenerys furrowed her brows. “What?”

Jon shrugged and straightened up. “Let’s go,” he said. He turned and grabbed her jeans and jacket off the corner chair, and he flung both at her. “Get dressed.”

“Go where exactly?” Daenerys asked. She didn’t manage to catch her clothes, but watched it drop to the floor. As he turned his back on her, she hesitated before pulling off her skirt and dragging on her jeans. The denim groaned across her sweaty skin. She tugged at it harshly until she could zip it at her waist. “Jon?”

“Somewhere,” he said, clarifying nothing. He pulled his own leather jacket off the mirror and put it on, turning to glance at her before she had time to assure him that she was decent. With a cheeky glimpse to his eyes he called: “Come on,” and headed out into the curtain of rain.

Daenerys paused. Then, seeing no other option, she shook her head and followed at his heels.

They hurried down the steps toward the parking lot behind the staff quarters. There, nestled in among shiny cars and rusty bicycles, Jon approached a banged up Chevrolet. Even in the shadow of the rain, Daenerys could tell that it had many miles on it or, as her brother Rhaegar would say, _rustic charm_.

Jon was less charming as he banged his fists to the window and swore: “Shit!” He pressed his face to the glass, and Daenerys watched his curls slick down his face, the hair heavy with the running water. “I locked my keys in the car!”

Daenerys dragged her jacket closely around her frame, but she could still feel herself getting soaked. Her shoes were filled with water. Her jeans were sticking to her legs. She dragged the hood down over her face to cover her hair, and Jon looked at her with annoyance in his eyes. “It’s okay,” she shouted over the rain. “We can go back.”

Jon shook his head whilst looking around and, after a pause, he stormed over to a garden lamp. The silver metal pole was nestled deep into the ground, but Jon didn’t seem to care; he kicked at it until it loosened, and then dragged the thing right out of its hole. With big eyes, Daenerys watched as he stormed back to his car and, without any hesitation to his movements, smashed the back-door window with the metal. He then reached in and unlocked the passenger side door with ease, and he held it open as he gestured for her to come closer.

“You’re getting wet, right?” he asked, and she scurried past him into the car, her heartbeat in her throat.

Jon acted as if the whole situation was natural. He simply threw the lamp aside, got into the driver side seat, and then started the car, setting off down the road and out of the resort. Only then, as they passed under the bridge toward Lannisport, did Daenerys dare to peek out of the corners of her eyes toward him.

There he sat, dripping wet, his hands dirty from grabbing at the lamp, his lips pursed in a joyous whistle, and she found herself laughing freely for the first time in a while.

“You’re wild!” she stated, staring at him, and he met her gaze with a little smile on his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Daenerys rolled her head back as the laughter rolled through her body, and Jon joined in, his own chuckle barely audible over the music once he turned on the radio. The Rolling Stones were playing. ‘Satisfaction’ rocked through the car. Daenerys clapped along to the beat, her fingertips drumming on her knees. “I’ve never seen anyone do something like that.”

“I guess I have anger problems,” Jon shrugged.

“You think?” Daenerys grinned. She huddled back against the leather seat as she looked out of the window. The last time she’d been in a car, Rhaegar had been driving them to the resort, her stomach churning with worry. Now, she felt herself fill with anticipation as Jon drove them through villages out onto the lonely countryside roads.

 _This shouldn’t be fun_ , she thought, _we’re doing this for Margaery. This isn’t a road-trip._ Still, when she met Jon’s eyes, she felt herself grow warm, and nothing inside of her wanted for the emotion to vanish. “Where did you learn to dance?” she asked.

The question seemed to catch Jon off-guard. He licked his lips and leaned over the wheel, trying to stare his way through the falling rain. The further away from the resort they were getting, the more the sky lightened up. “I used to live up north. Around Winterfell.”

“That’s far from here,” Daenerys said surprised. She’d gathered Jon wasn’t local with his stark, black hair and pale skin, but she’d not thought him to be from such a cold place. Before she could stop herself, she mumbled: “That explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” Jon scoffed, yet he didn’t linger. “Anyway, when I was a boy, this southern dance teacher came travelling through the region. All the wealthy families paid big bucks to have him teach their sons and daughters. It was like this glimpse into another world, you know?”

Daenerys nodded mindlessly, her fingers still tapping along to the music. “So you were one of those many sons?” she mused, making Jon laugh with spite.

“Me?” He shook his head with a smirk. “I’ve never known wealth, not really.”

“But you just said-”

Jon interrupted her: “I’ll say this just once.” He paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing: “My mother died when I was young. She used to be a nanny for this old northern family. They’re called the Starks - ever heard of them?” He glanced toward Daenerys, just long enough to see her shake her head. “Well, Robb’s a Stark. He pleaded for me, knowing that I’d end up on the streets if they didn’t help me, so his mother relented and allowed me to stay. She never did find it in her to love me, though.”

“How old were you?” Daenerys asked, and Jon paused for a few long seconds before replying:

“I was eight.” He reached out and turned down the music a bit. The vehicle suddenly seemed very quiet and intimate, Daenerys thought, and she felt herself scuffle closer to the seat as she waited for Jon to carry on. He did so with a sigh: “I was fifteen when the dance teacher came by. All my brothers and sisters danced, but I wasn’t invited. Still, he insisted that he would teach all or none, so I was allowed a lesson. Turned out I was pretty good at it.”

As he spoke, Daenerys noticed a small smile spread across his lips. It was kind and genuine. It made her cheeks feel warm. “Did you leave with him?” she asked, and Jon nodded.

“I did. Like an apprentice, I suppose. It would be years before I saw anyone from the family again. Once I got the job with the Lannisters, I convinced Robb to join me.”

“No hard task with Margaery around,” Daenerys chuckled.

Jon looked at her confused. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Daenerys gawked at him. “Haven’t you seen the way Robb looks at her? Or the way she smiles at him?”

Jon sent her a blank stare. “To be honest,” he said slowly, and Daenerys was about to mock him when he finished, “I haven’t looked at much else than you recently.”

His words made Daenerys’ heart skip a beat. She averted her eyes, certain that her cheeks were bright red, and she casually reached out to turn up the radio again. As the music filled the car once more, she braved herself to ask: “Where are we going?”, and Jon finally replied:

“Somewhere I can teach you concentration.”

“Mhmm,” Daenerys hummed, “I feel kidnapped.” She pushed her hands through her locks as she watched him blush, and something about his shyness made her giggle. “Should I be scared?”

“Only if you don’t like water,” Jon said, making her eyes narrow.

“Water?” she repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

* * *

By the time they reached the lakeside, the rain had stopped. Jon parked at a clearing in the woods and led her to the waterside, the area completely quiet but for the sound of the two of them crossing the forest floor. They were far away from any resort; here, nature dominated, and when she breathed in the crisp air, Daenerys felt her chest fill with joy.

“It’s beautiful around here,” she said and gazed across the water. It was still and blue, the clear sky reflected in its surface. As Jon joined her side, she felt the heat from his body next to hers as they stood watching the lake.

“I go here sometimes when I need to get away from it all,” he said. He then kicked off his shoes before gesturing for her to do the same. “The best way to practice lifts is in the water,” he said and waited for her to bend over to untie her sneakers. “It’s easier to develop balance and strength.”

“I didn’t bring a swimming suit,” Daenerys said, but before she could protest further, she felt her eyes go wide as Jon grabbed at his shirt and pulled it off. His body was exactly what she’d expected; his shoulders sculpted, his pecs firm, and, further down, his middle was dominated by a tight rippling of abs. The deep lines from his hips led her eyes to the edge of his slacks, and she found that she had to force herself to look away not to linger on any indecent thoughts.

 _He’s teaching me,_ she reminded herself. She shyly pulled off her loose shirt, leaving herself in jeans and a tank top only. _There’s nothing else to it._ Still, when she glanced back up at him, she found his eyes lingering on her bosom, and he too was in a hurry to look away once she caught him staring.

“You don’t need a swimsuit. We’ll stay in the shallow end,” he promised as he waded into the water. Daenerys watched with amusement as his slacks clung to his knees, the lake dragging him down, and it wasn’t until he turned and waved at her that she stepped toward the edge.

Carefully, as if she was scared something would bite her, she dipped her bare feet into the water. It was cold, sending chills up her spine, but she couldn’t back down now. So she took another step into the lake, forcing her body to adapt to the cool temperature as she pressed on. The water rose around her. She felt it nip at her waist, soaking the fabric of her top. By the time she reached Jon, most of his chest was above the surface whilst the water sloshed around her collarbones.

For a moment, they paused before one another. Daenerys felt Jon’s grey eyes taking her in, and she couldn’t help but to watch the way water clung onto his skin, dripping down his defined features. When he reached for her, his hold was gentle at her waist, and she heard herself gasp in air when he dragged her toward him. They had been close often; when dancing, their bodies rubbed, and she could sometimes taste his sweat in the air, the distance between them so small that it could be considered intimate.

 _Yet, it’s never been like this,_ Daenerys realised, her pale lashes fluttering as she glanced up into Jon’s eyes. It wasn’t just the fact that her palms now brushed to his naked chest rather than his shirt. It was the way he eyed her, the way he _saw_ her - not like a silly little girl acting an adult among the grown-ups, but as a full-fledged woman with thoughts and desires and wants of her own.

She felt them now, all those emotions shivering through her body as he tugged her through the water. She could feel his heartbeat. She could hear his gentle breathing. She could smell his aftershave on the lower part of his neck, the small hairs standing rough from where he shaved the line of his beard that morning. She wondered if he could smell her.

“Bend your knees,” Jon instructed. His voice was not curt, but smooth, and she held her breath as she lowered herself a little, the water splashing onto her face. Between his hands, she felt safe, so when he said: “And go!” - she pushed up.

She was in the air. Daenerys gasped in surprise as her body stretched, perfectly straight above Jon, his strong arms keeping her steady. Her own arms reached to the sides, and for a moment, as the water slippered off her and ran down her body, she felt like a bird taking off in flight.

“Good!” she heard Jon call from below. “Now, hold it. Hold it.”

Daenerys tightened every muscle in her stomach that she could, but though he yelled at her, she felt herself dip forward.

“Don’t break it!” he urged. “Don’t break!” - but it was too late.

Daenerys let go of a joyous whine as she fell forward head-first into the water, and she dragged Jon down with her, his whole body submerging. By the time they both fought their way back to the surface, they were laughing.

“I said don’t break,” Jon scolded, but his voice was amused.

“Then hold me better,” Daenerys chided, her tone just as humoured. She swung her arms around his neck to assist her with floating, and Jon didn’t seem to mind. Rather, he pulled her close, letting their bodies pressed tight as they both gasped for air through their giggling.

As their breathing returned to normal, Daenerys found herself so close to Jon that their noses touched. His lips were barely inches from hers. When she licked her own to rid herself of the water, she sensed her tongue brushed against the edge of his moustache.

“Again?” Jon asked, his whisper warm, and he pushed his hand down her hair, dragging water out of her locks.

Daenerys copied him, wrestling a good amount of wetness out of a curly lock of his as she whispered: “Yes please.”

* * *

Whilst Margaery adjusted the pale red dress, Daenerys sucked in her stomach and held her arms in position.

“I’ll keep my shoulders down, my head up,” she spoke, carefully going through Jon’s instructions in her head. She licked her lips as she eyed herself in the mirror, the hemline of the dress slightly too long on her. It had been made for Margaery’s taller frame, so now the woman knelt as she stuffed needles into the bottom to make it shorter. “My frame locked, stay on my toes. Not put my heels down.”

“You’ve been saying the same thing over and over for the past ten minutes,” Margaery pointed out. She smiled up at her, her lips closed around a safety pin.

Daenerys let her arms fall to her sides with a sigh. “What if I forget the steps?”

“Let him lead you,” Margaery said. She stood up and walked around Daenerys as she watched her dress, ensuring that it sat at the same length the whole way around.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll just fall on my face,” Daenerys muttered.

The changing room was chilly. On the other side of the thin wall, Daenerys knew Jon was closing down the dance studio for the day. She could hear him squabbling with Melisandre as the woman begged for another lesson. She tried to block out the buzzing from their voices, but whenever she did, her mind turned inwards to a louder noise - the fright of messing up.

As Margaery slipped the dress off her shoulders, she shivered in her knickers and crossed her arms over her bra. “Can it even be adjusted?”

“Stop being so negative,” Margaery chided. “You’re the one who’s always looking at the bright side.”

“Yeah, well,” Daenerys paused, staring at herself in the mirror. “Maybe I’m just pretending.”

“I can get it sewn up in time for tonight,” Margaery assured her. She folded the fabric and placed it on the bench behind them before handing Daenerys her jeans and tee.

Daenerys slipped the shirt over her head, using the short time in the dark of the fabric to reset her mind, and when her head popped free of the collar, she stared at herself in the mirror, held up her arms, and repeated: “I’ll keep my shoulders down, my head up. I won’t stare at my feet. My frame will be locked.” She smiled a little, but her smile faltered when she caught Margaery’s eyes in the reflection. The brown in them was glistening, and when she turned to look at the woman, she found her glazed over.

“Thanks, Dany,” she whispered.

Daenerys was so surprised by the softness in her voice that she merely stammered: “Of course.”

“I want you to know I don’t sleep around,” she said, and Daenerys felt herself turn to face her, taking her hands into her own. Margaery suckled on her inner cheek as she built up the courage to speak. “Whatever Viserys might have told you, I thought it was love. Really. He can be so charming.”

“My brother will stop at nothing to get what he wants,” Daenerys said and squeezed her hands. They were shivering, she noted, and she assured her: “I would never think poorly of you, Margaery. I’m just so sorry about all of this.”

Maragery smiled, but her gaze still slipped over Daenerys’ shoulders, as if she could not bear to look into her eyes as she muttered: “I thought I was someone special to him.”

Daenerys felt her heart ache. She wanted nothing more than to assure Margaery that of course she was special, but she also sensed that she didn’t have the right words to speak. To Viserys, she had been a plaything, easily discarded once he’d gotten what he came for, and she could not even try to pretend that wasn’t the truth.

Before she could come up with some comforting words to speak, Margaery slipped free of her hands and shook her head. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that.”

Daenerys fumbled with her jeans as she tried to find comfort in the silence, but it was just unsettling. It was Jon’s urging voice on the other side of the wall that finally broke them down in a giggle:

“For all that is good in life, Melisandre - no more dancing tonight!”

“Seems like Jon has his hands full,” Daenerys chuckled, and Margaery nodded. It was only then, as Daenerys buttoned up her jeans and turned to smile at her, that she realised she was no longer chuckling. She was sobbing. “Oh, no,” she whispered and reached for her, and Margaery let her drag her into a hug as she whispered:

“Oh Dany, I am so scared. I am so, so scared.”

Daenerys hushed her as she stroked her hair. Her brown locks felt soft between her fingers. It was a moment of tenderness, she realised, one they hadn’t had the time to have earlier. _We have been so focused on this night of mambo,_ she realised with regret, _that we’ve had no time to prepare for the real event._ Just hours from now, Margaery would be with a doctor, her womanhood in his hands, and the situation dawned on Daenerys with every whimper from her friend.

“I am so, so scared,” Margaery whispered again, pressing her face to Daenerys neck.

All Daenerys could do was assure her: “It’ll be fine,” though her chest was clenched with worry.

* * *

“The Golden Tooth is proud to present Jon Snow and partner in Mambo Magic!”

The spotlight was sharp. Daenerys felt her face stiffen as she was eye-to-eye with the audience. The hotel was smaller than Casterly Resort, yet they’d managed to pack at least a hundred guests into the ballroom, and all eyes were on her as the music started.

“It’s okay,” Jon whispered in her ear, a gentle smile on his lips. She couldn’t tell if he was offering her kindness or putting on a show for the hotel, but she returned it stiffly. “On two,” he reminded her, and Daenerys swallowed, shortly closed her eyes as she listened for the music, and she agreed:

“On two.” She swirled. Her dress fluttered around her legs, the hemline shortened to match with her stature. Margaery had done a good job, she caught herself thinking, and she felt certain no one in the audience would be able to tell any difference. Still she felt they were sure to notice her clumsiness, especially as she bumped into Jon’s chest, her face going beet red.

Jon, however, didn’t falter. He gently raised her head by the chin, catching her eyes with his own comforting ones, and he pulled her arms into the right frame as they danced.

Daenerys bit down on her lower lip, the red lipstick smearing onto her teeth, but she needed something to keep her in the moment. She tried not to look down at her feet as they did their steps, but every time she moved ahead, she worried if she was going to hammer her heel into Jon’s shoes. The silver stilettos clacked across the stage. She tried to ignore their sound and just follow the beat.

As the music carried on, so did their dancing, and when a few seconds passed by without incident, Daenerys felt herself breathe out in relief. Her gasp must’ve been audible to Jon, because he smiled at her, flashing his teeth which shone white in the spotlight. It made her smile too.

On they went; they dominated the stage, his large frame safely leading her from one corner to the next before his hand urged her to move her skirts, the fabric fluttering up into the air as she tried to remember how to stretch her legs.

 _How peculiar_ , she thought as her body moved on its own accord. She still didn’t know a single name of the movements, but she knew what they looked like and how to do them - so she did, her mind replaying the dance she’d practised with Jon earlier. Arm out. Arm in. Leg stretched. Leg bent. Twirl. Step, step.

It wasn’t professional, but was good enough, and soon she was confidently smiling at the audience, a chuckle from Jon cutting through the music to her ears. It made her spine tingle nicely.

It was then she heard it: “ _Wrong way._ ” It was a whisper, but she caught herself stepping to the right instead of the left, and awkwardly she turned and bumped chests with Jon once again. She felt a panic start in her stomach, and it began spreading across her limbs, stiffening her up at once.

 _Let him lead you,_ Daenerys reminded herself of Margaery’s words. _He will not lead you astray._ So she allowed Jon’s hands on her waist, and she retained her joyous face as she suppressed the panic, instead making up the steps until she could fall back into their routine. _It may not be perfect, but it will do,_ she told herself, and before she knew of it, the fright was gone and replaced with another genuine smile.

“Ready for the lift?” he whispered as the music got louder, leading up to a finale, and Daenerys bobbed her head eagerly. His strong hands left her frame as he moved to the corner of the stage, and she took in a deep breath, preparing her body as she stepped toward him, quickening her pace, closer and closer until-

Daenerys didn’t jump. She grabbed onto Jon’s arms, her eyes meeting his. Her whole frame shivered with fear, and she scolded herself: _You stupid little girl!_ \- but Jon just grabbed her at the waist and swung her around, making the audience clap all the same. Once he placed her into their final position, her back bent as far back as she could go, a few men stood up from their tables to cheer them on.

As Daenerys was dragged back onto her feet, she shyly smiled at the cheer, and through her embarrassment she managed to curtsy a few times. In fact, she didn’t stop until Jon claimed her hand and led her off-stage, a smile plastered onto his own lips until they once more escaped the spotlight.

Once the shadows of the backstage hit them, Jon’s face cracked open into a laugh. “What was that!” he laughed, and Daenerys felt herself squirm.

“I tried!” she promised. She was trying to keep up with him as he walked ahead, rushing through the staff toward the exit. “Did I do real bad?”

“No, you did real good,” Jon assured her. The moment he swung the door open, the cold evening breeze wrapped around them and made them both sigh. Daenerys hadn’t realised how warm she’d gotten, but now, as she stepped outside onto the parking lot, she could feel sweat slip down her forehead. Her heartbeat was rapid. Her hands shivered when she stretched her fingers. “You worked hard and did real good.”

“I didn’t do the lift though,” she reminded him as they both rushed to his car. Jon had put a piece of cardboard over the broken window, and he pushed it aside to allow him to unlock the door and let her in.

“Who cares? It’s not like those people know dance anyway,” he assured her.

Daenerys chuckled as she settled in the passenger seat. “I suppose you’ve got a point.”

As Jon joined her at the wheel, swiftly setting off into the darkness on their way back to the resort, he sent her a kind smile and repeated: “You did real good, Dany. Real good.”

All she could do was tug at her hair to hide the grin on her own lips. Something inside her fluttered. She realised she’d never felt so good in her entire life.

* * *

Jon had barely turned off the vehicle when Robb came running from between the cottages. Even in the darkness, Daenerys could tell that he was panicked. His voice quivered when he called out to them: “Jon! Come on. It’s Margaery.”

Jon slammed the door shut as he made his way around the car, his eyes confused. “What? What happened?” he asked.

Robb just shook his head as started running across the lawn. “Come on!” he called, and the three of them set off alongside the lake toward the staff quarters by the woodside.

The evening air was cold, but it was Robb’s shivering frame that made Daenerys’ skin rough with goosebumps. As she quickened her pace to keep up with the men, she called out to him: “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Robb said and sent her a pained look over his shoulder. “Everything went wrong. She’s been waiting for you to get back.”

“You didn’t call an ambulance?” Jon shouted, his voice thick with anger.

Robb looked guilty when he shook his head. “She said they’d just contact the police,” he explained, but even he looked uncertain. “She made me promise!” he added with a sob.

The cottage was easy to recognise. The porch was full of staff hanging about, all of them looking concerned. Jon brusquely pushed his way through the crowd to the door and staggered inside. Daenerys heard him yelp in anguish before she saw Margaery:

There she was, covered in sweat, the thin duvet tucked up beneath her chin, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as she pressed her hands flat between her legs. She wailed in pain when Jon settled on the edge of her bed, and he swiftly got up, running his hands through his hair whilst staring at her wide-eyed.

“He didn’t use no ether - nothing!” Robb spoke.

“You said he was a real M.D.,” Daenerys said through gritted teeth. She clung onto the doorframe, afraid that she would faint if she let go, and she sent Robb a fearsome look. She almost felt bad for speaking the words, though, because when his blue eyes glanced back at her, she found them full of tears.

“The guy had a dirty knife and a folding table!” he cried, his cheeks growing red as he spoke, and he wiped his face off in his sleeve as he turned back to face Jon. “I could hear her screaming in the hallway,” he admitted with desperation in his voice, “I tried to get in, Jon, I tried!”

Margaery let go of a cry in the same. Jon reached down and stroked her hair, the sweat dripping into her locks. “I’m here,” he whispered, “I’m here.”

Daenerys felt sick. It was like a sudden urge to vomit was pushing its way up through her throat, but she knew she had no time for self-pity. She swiftly turned on her heels and stumbled off the porch, and then set off down the path back toward the lakeside and the guest cottages.

As she ran, her mind spun, but she couldn’t focus on anything - not a single word, not a single image. It was like a black pit of white noise, and it only cleared once she laid eyes on her family’s hut.

Daenerys slammed the front door open and turned to the bed. In it, Rhaegar stirred at the sound. Her brother sat up confused, the duvet falling down his bared chest, and he yawned: “Dany? Is that you?”

“You have to come,” she begged, and her voice quivered with such fear that Rhaegar’s eyes focused clearly at once.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked and, when she shook her head, he queried: “Is it Viserys?”

If not for the situation, Daenerys would have laughed in spite. “It’s not Viserys,” she merely said and she grabbed his black doctor’s bag off the floor. As she held it tight to her chest and spoke: “Someone’s in trouble,” Rhaegar’s eyes met hers with an immediate understanding.

He didn’t pause to ask further questions. He merely dragged on a shirt and stepped into a random pair of shoes before gesturing for her to lead the way.

They hurried as much as they could. By the time they reached the cottage, Daenerys was out of breath and collapsed against the doorframe. She was prepared to speak, trying to push the words out of her burning throat, but Rhaegar didn’t stop to offer her a second look. He pushed right into the room, waving at the crowd in there.

“Clear the room!” he said, his voice more harsh than she’d ever heard before. “I want everyone out.” The youngsters in there bowed their heads and scurried past Daenerys outside, and even Jon jumped to his feet swiftly at the sight of Rhaegar.

“Sir,” he said and stepped aside as Rhaegar claimed his spot at Margaery’s side.

Rhaegar grabbed onto Margaery’s hands, and he brushed across her stomach gently, his fingertips only just teasing her flesh. Yet, she whimpered like she’d been struck. “Yes, I know it hurts,” he said, his voice no longer rough. It was soft and soothing, and Daenerys felt herself swallow as her heartbeat slowed. Something about her brother’s presence was comforting, and even Robb and Jon who’d pressed themselves flat to the wall next to her looked to relax a little. “We are going to take care of the pain, okay?”

“Will she be okay?” Daenerys asked, and Rhaegar glanced toward her as he opened his bag. He didn’t reply immediately, merely withdrew a glass bottle and a syringe.

“Who’s responsible for this young woman?” he asked, his voice tense.

Daenerys wetted her lips. The feeling of sick returned. With Margaery no longer capable of speaking, her lips shivering blue, she knew she had to step in and be the adult. _I have to admit the truth,_ she thought, her stomach churning at the idea of how Rhaegar would react. Still, as her mouth opened to speak, she only managed to stutter: “Actually-” before Jon cut her off:

“I am.” His voice was steady, and he stepped away from the wall as if presenting himself to Rhaegar. Daenerys stared at him in surprise, but he didn’t meet her eyes, and all she could do was close her hands around his arm to help keep him standing straight. “Sir, is she-” Jon paused, sniffing in air through his nose. “Is she going to be-”

Rhaegar glared at him. In his eyes, there wasn’t a shred of kindness, just disgust. “I want everyone out,” he repeated his earlier statement, and he nodded toward the door. “Now.”

“Come on,” Daenerys whispered. She pulled Jon by the arm, and together with Robb they managed to drag him outside, his body going limp between their hands. As she closed the door, the last thing she was was Rhaegar slowly injecting the painkiller into Margaery, her face relaxing with a sigh.

* * *

There was a full moon. As Daenerys sat on the steps to the porch, she eyed it, her body devoid of emotions. She wasn’t sure what made her feel that way - perhaps the adrenaline had worn itself thin. Perhaps it was the silence between those who remained. Perhaps she was just feeling so many things at once that they all cancelled themselves out and just left her feeling empty.

Whatever it was, she barely sensed the cold that had sneaked its way around her bare arms and legs, the pale red dress still cladding her body. When she looked at it, she remembered how happy she’d been just hours earlier as they left the Golden Tooth. How she’d jittered with joy. How she’d looked at Jon with kindness.

Daenerys glanced over her shoulder up at him. He stood by the railing, looking out across the lake, and his face was bathed in worry. Since Rhaegar kicked them out, he’d not moved an inch. His grey eyes no longer sparkled. His lips no longer smiled. He looked like a man who was awaiting the arrival of death.

As the door suddenly swung open, he turned on his heels. Daenerys too jumped to her feet, holding her breath as she watched Rhaegar emerge from the room. He looked tired - his eyes were dark and his skin washed grey but, when she caught his eyes, he gave her an assuring nod. That simple gesture alone made Robb whimper:

“Oh, thank God!” and he grabbed at her brother’s hand with vigour as he shook it. “Thank you so much, Doc. Thank you!”

The relief on Jon’s face was heartwarming. He too reached for Rhaegar’s hand as he said: “Thank you, Mr Targaryen, I can never repay you-” but his words died out on his lips as Rhaegar just scoffed at his hand and turned away from it.

He walked the few steps down to Daenerys before placing a gentle hand on her back. “Come on, Dany,” he said as he led her away from the cottage. Urged on by his hand, she didn’t even dare to look back over her shoulder, but just followed him along the path.

At first, he was quiet. As they trudged across the grounds, Daenerys eyed her feet. She was still in her silver heels, the shoes gnawing at her toes, and she could sense that Rhargar had taken notice of her odd choice of clothing. At least he seemed to eye her hemline with perplexion as he asked:

“Was that what my money paid for? A butcher?”

“I never meant to lie to you,” Daenerys muttered. She glanced from the tips of her shoes to him. 

Rhaegar’s violet eyes were dark with disappointment. “You’re not who I thought you were, Dany,” he said, and his words were like a slap across her face.

Daenerys instinctively rubbed her cheek as she glanced away. “Rhaegar-” she started, but she had nothing else to say, not when he added:

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Rhaegar’s hand around his bag tightened. His white skin appeared even more pale when he squeezed at the handle. “I don’t want you to have anything to do with those people ever again.”

Daenerys felt her heart quiver. _This is not fair,_ she thought as they walked. A fire was building inside of her. She could feel it burn inside her chest. _They had nothing to do with this. It’s all Viserys. If only I could make him understand._ She glanced toward Rhaegar as she started: “At least let me explain-”

“You’re to have nothing to do with them!” he barked, and she stopped in her steps. He glared at her, his voice loud and demanding as he said: “Never again. That’s an order, Dany!”

Daenerys stared at him in disbelief. “You won’t even let me speak?” she whispered, and the anger seemed to seep from her brother’s face. He took in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, but when he exhaled, he could no longer look her in the eyes.

“I’m going back to bed,” he said. “Go wash that make-up off your face before the Lannisters see you.” With that, he turned and stomped back toward his cottage, leaving Daenerys shivering in the cold eve.

* * *

The night seemed to last forever. Unable to find rest anywhere, Daenerys walked the crass darkness, her feet aching and her arms prickling from the cold. Her mind buzzed with the past few days events; Margaery’s tears, the hopeless chase for cash, Viserys’ carelessness, the harsh dancing routine, Jon’s hands around her waist. Somehow, no matter what moment she focused on, her thoughts always wandered back to _him_.

Jon, in the lake, water dripping, curls soaked, smile gentle, eyes ravishing, hands kind.

 _I am distracted,_ she scolded herself, too late in realising that she was knocking on a door, on _his_ door, until it swung open and his surprised face met hers. He was bare-chested, wearing slacks only, and the sight alone made her heart skip a beat. She thought: _I am leading myself astray._ Yet, she heard herself ask:

“Can I come in?” - and Jon just nodded as he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

‘These arms of mine’ was playing. Otis Redding’s soothing voice seemed to embrace her and warm her chilly skin. Jon’s space had heat, although it lacked much else - a mattress with no frame was pushed against the wall, three chairs topped with clothes were scattered around the room, and in the corner a turntable stood, its spotless facade a clear testimony to Jon’s love for it. The wooden floorboards were stripped, and not a lick of paint covered the dull walls.

As Daenerys eyed herself in the sole mirror that had been hung on the wall, Jon cleared his voice behind her.

“It’s not a great room,” he admitted and shyly kicked the floor. His voice was forcefully gruff, although his cheeks appeared red when she looked at him. He averted his eyes. “I bet you have a great room.”

“No, it’s a great room,” Daenerys assured him immediately. She thought she saw him smile for a second, but he hurriedly walked to a chair and pushed the clothes off it to the floor.

“Please,” he said and waited for her to take a seat before scratching his nape. He stood with uncertainty in his body, his weight moving from one foot to the other, and Daenerys sensed she had to be the first to speak.

Only, she did not know what to say. She eyed her hands as she stretched and bent her cold fingers, working some warmth back into her muscles. After a pause, she finally sighed. “Look,” she started, “I’m sorry about the way Rhaegar treated you.”

“No, he was great. Mr Targaryen was great,” Jon said, his voice honest, and he scratched his neck some more until the skin turned red. “I mean, the way he was with Margaery - he was just amazing.”

“I don’t mean the way he was with her,” Daenerys pointed out, “I’m talking about the way he was with you. He shouldn’t have turned on your hand like that.”

“I could never do what he did,” Jon said, his voice suddenly solemn. When Daenerys glanced into his eyes, she saw a tinge of embarrassment to his grey. “The way he saved her? No, Dany, I can’t fault him for anything.”

“All the same,” Daenerys muttered, though Jon seemed lost in his own words. He grabbed a chair and sat next to her, shaking his head at himself as he continued:

“I realised tonight that people treat me like nothing because I am nothing.”

“Stop that nonsense.” Daenerys sucked in air and grabbed his hand. She squeezed it between her own, feeling his heartbeat when her fingertips stroked across his wrist. “It’s Viserys who is nothing. He’s the one who should sit here ashamed, not you.”

“You don’t know how it is, Dany,” Jon said. He was eyeing their hands sadly, his lips pushed into a slight pout. “Last month, I’m living off scraps. This month, women are lining my pockets with cash. I am balancing on shit. My ups are always followed by downs.”

“You shouldn’t have taken the blame,” Daenerys insisted. “It doesn’t have to be like this. The bad guy doesn’t always have to win.” When Jon didn’t immediately nod, but rather smiled wryly, she felt her voice fill with exhaustion as she cried: “Why did you do it!”

“Because I know what it’s like not to have family.” Jon’s lips snapped shut, and he slipped free of her hand to cover his face in his own. As he took in a shivering breath, Daenerys stared at him puzzled.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice soft.

“I don’t want to cause any grief, Dany. I don’t want to be the one to break up a family.”

“It’s my family, and my choice,” Daenerys said, but she was still feeling vexed. She reached out to grab his hand, and she nudged it away from his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. His cheeks were red, and his eyes wet, but this time he did not look away. After a pause, she said: “Hi,” making him chuckle.

“Hey.” Both his hands fell to his lap, and they stared at each other for a few seconds, the day’s events having caused both of them to look rather washed out.

“Look, you’re an amazing dancer,” Daenerys said slowly, and before Jon could protest, she continued: “Really, you are. It doesn’t have to be up and down. It can be steady.”

“Like a road?”

“More like a fisherman crossing the ocean,” Daenerys said, making him laugh. She too wrinkled her nose as she giggled: “There will be waves, sure. But you can learn to navigate them.”

Jon shook his head in disbelief and for a second she thought that she’d lost him. But then he sighed: “I’ve never met anyone like you,” and looked at her with kindness. The way his lips curled upwards made her chest warm, and her fingertips shivered as he grabbed at them, squeezing them with care. “You look at the world and think you can make it better. Someone’s lost, you find them. Someone’s in trouble, you help them-”

“Oh yeah, real big of me to ask Rhaegar for cash,” Daenerys said and rolled her eyes.”You said that yourself.”

“Well, I was wrong,” Jon huffed. He reached out and gently turned her head back to face him. “It took courage to ask. You’re not scared of anything.”

Daenerys let go of a brusque laugh. “Me?” she said with amusement, making Jon blink in confusion. “I am scared of everything!” She felt her stomach clench as she spoke, the words slipping from her lips as easily as breathing: “I am scared of what to do and who I am. I am scared-” She took in a deep breath, her voice quivering, and when she continued speaking, it was with her heart aching: “I am scared of walking out of this room and never again feel the way I feel when I’m with you.”

There was a tense pause. As Jon sat gaping at her, she felt all emotions in her well up, filling her throat. It made it hard for her to breathe. She clenched her jaw and looked down in defiance, her eyes struggling to keep her tears back. It was the final culmination of it all, she sensed. What she had felt but not had the words to describe. It had surfaced, and it was too late to suppress it. She could only await judgement.

The record changed. ‘Cry to me’ started playing. Solomon Burke’s lyrics filled the air, almost teasing her when he asked: _Doncha feel like crying._ She could’ve broken down in that moment, but instead she rose and stared down at Jon who was still seated.

“Let’s dance,” she said.

Jon glanced up at her. “Here?”

Daenerys shrugged. “Here,” she agreed.

Jon swallowed. Then he got up. She almost expected him to grab at her, swing her around in a rhythmic mambo the way they had earlier that evening.

But when his hand took hold of her waist, they were soft, and he nudged her toward him, her palms only slowly pressing to his bare pecs. She felt herself shiver as her fingertips brushed up his warm skin, crossing his collarbone to reach his shoulders, before finding rest at his nape. His black curls swirled around her nails. She played with them fondly as he started rocking her body, their steps so small they were almost nonexistent.

Jon was so close that she could taste him in the air. When he breathed out, a smell of beer and smoke crossed her skin, and when he inhaled, she felt herself on his tongue, the scent of her perfume and perspiration sure to be on his lips. Her eyelashes fluttered. Their tips dragged across his cheek. She sensed him watching her from the corners of her eyes, so when urged by his steady hand, she let herself fall backwards, her back bending into his touch.

She wanted him to see. She wanted him to long. She wanted him to _crave._ She arched her back, letting her bosom rise, and only slowly did she ascend, his gaze watching her every inch of the way. When she pushed into his chest, his groin pressed to her crotch, and she felt the bulge of him teasing the thin fabric of her dress, nudging toward her wet knickers.

As they danced, Jon’s hands started exploring her back. She felt him tease her spine, her lower back, her buttocks. Only then, as he stroked her arse and made her gasp, did his fingers dig into the dress and drag it upwards. Whilst she was revealed - thighs, knickers, stomach, breasts - she kept dancing, her small steps making her jiggle, her skin sensitive from excitement.

But she did not feel shy, not even when her clothing was thrown aside and Jon’s hands freely travelled her frame. _No,_ she realised, her back bending once more, the rhythm of the music in their hips. _No, I feel seen._

To Viserys, she was a fool. To Rhaegar, she was a little girl. But to Jon, she was _something else._ She felt it now, as his lips brushed to her forehead, down her nose, teasing her upper-lip. She felt it in his heart, the rapid way it beat away in his chest, causing her hand to jump. And she felt it in his kiss, his mouth on hers, the sense too fleeting.

Jon’s warm breath tickled her cheeks, her neck, and her collarbone as he dipped his head down, pressing small pecks to all he could reach. Daenerys’ fingertips dragged through his hair, his curls bouncing around her palms as she led him back up, urging his face back to hers. When she kissed him again, her eyes fluttered closed. Their eyelashes intertwined. Their breath became one, the scent of him mixing with her on the tip of her tongue.

It was gentle, but it was intense, the heat in her like a wildfire. It took over her body, running through her veins like an unstoppable force. Her heart hurt. Her stomach softened. Her knees shivered. Her body longed for Jon to press her close, embrace her and let her be his.

Daenerys’ hands slipped across his skin. It was slick, sweat working itself up across him, and she let herself glide down his torso, dipping in between his abs. Just as greedy was he - Jon’s hands brushed past her bosom, around her stomach, down to her arse where he rested, his palms kneading her buttocks.

They were barely dancing now, their bodies rubbing and grinding like the dance she’d seen the staff do to ‘Mashed potatoes’, and she now sensed that she understood what they had known for ages - the need for someone close. The vulnerable yet strong urge to be one.

Yet he was too kind, and she heard him ask: “Are you sure?” to her lips, making her smile.

“I told you, everything scares me,” she said, meeting his worried eyes. She bit her lip as she admitted: “But this does not.”

A smile spread on his lips. Jon pressed another warm kiss to her mouth as he dragged her close, his steps following the music as the two of them shuffled toward his mattress, their bodies keen to meet.

* * *

The breakfast table was perfectly set; plates of cold meats and cheeses, a basket stuffed with golden slices of toast, bowls spilling over with grapes and apples and bananas, a silver pot of steaming coffee, three glasses topped with orange juice. With Viserys off work for the day, the three of them looked like the perfect family - Rhaegar in a suit, Viserys in slacks and polo, and she in denim shorts and a white shirt.

But the way Rhaegar tore at his bread whilst silently staring at Daenerys cracked the perfect image, and had it not been for Viserys’ clueless prattling, Daenerys felt sure she would’ve melted into the ground never to be seen again. But her brother’s chatter kept her fueled, the anger in her still stronger than the shame, so she narrowed her eyes and returned the glare, much to Rhaegar’s surprise.

He looked like he was about to speak when Joffrey approached in the same. His golden hair popped up from behind Rhaegar’s shoulder, almost making the man jump. “Good morning,” he smiled, glancing between the three of them before winking at Daenerys.

She weakly raised her brows at him and offered a muttered: “Hi.”

“Are you all planning to be in the show?” he asked and brandished a clipboard in the same. The paper tucked beneath the pin was full of names.

Rhaegar didn’t bother to look at him, but his tone was perfectly polite as he asked: “What show would that be?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Joffrey said before rolling his eyes, and he sent Daenerys an overbearing look. It was as if he was saying: _I am so sorry you have to deal with that._ It was almost amusing to her how he didn’t realise that he himself was exactly _that_. “The Lannister show. The big finale. Every year, we invite all staff and guests to showcase their special talents.”

“Some talents are not fit for stage,” Rhaegar pointed out. As he said this, he looked Daenerys straight in the eyes and tore a piece of bread in half, and she sucked in air through her mouth and held it, scared of what she might otherwise say.

“I’m sure you can think of something,” Joffrey offered, but Rhaegar just dropped the bread onto his plate and brushed his hands for crumbs.

“Not to bother,” he said, “we’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “We’ve paid for another week,” she reminded him, and Viserys too scooted forward in his seat.

“We can’t miss the show!” he gawked, staring at Rhaegar as if he’d gone mad. He shook his head, his silver hair flying about. “It’s not happening. I am meant to perform. This could be my big break!”

Both Daenerys and Joffrey grimaced, but whilst he managed to hide it behind Rhaegar’s back, Daenerys’ face was obvious. It looked to only incense Rhaegar who gritted his teeth together as he said:

“Tomorrow. We leave.”

“I thought you cared for me!” Viserys sniffed dramatically, his cheeks going red. “I have worked so hard to better myself, and you won’t even see me perform!”

Daenerys felt like gagging at his pitiful words, but they seemed to affect Rhaegar. At least her older brother lowered his eyes to the plate of torn bread as he sighed.

“It’s the big event,” Joffrey nudged, and Rhaegar finally nodded:

“Alright, it was just some idea I had.” He meekly glanced toward Viserys as he said: “Of course we will see you in the show.”

“Great! And you, Dany?” Joffrey asked, holding his pen ready on the clipboard.

For a hot second, Daenerys had a fantasy flash before her eyes. In it, she danced across the stage with Jon, and no one else mattered, the spotlight shining only on them. But she soon shook the dreams out of her head. “I won’t be performing,” she replied and watched the napkin in her lap. The fabric was folded perfectly to ensure not a spot would come on her clothes. She hated it at once.

“Yeah, Dany here hasn’t got many talents,” Viserys retorted, “if any at all.”

“I’m sure she’s good at something,” Joffrey said, and it could sound so very polite if it wasn’t for his leering stare. It made her squirm in her seat.

Rhaegar cleared his throat. “What will you do anyway, Viserys?” he asked, and he forced a smile to his lips as he watched his younger brother. Daenerys could tell his eyes were glazed over, and that he was not listening to a word being spoken, yet Viserys launched into an intricate explanation at once:

“Oh, it’s fantastic. I have this idea for a monologue. So, it takes place in the middle ages, and I am a misunderstood king-” As he prattled on, Rhaegar rose to fetch more food from the buffet, and Viserys followed at his heels, barely stopping to breathe in between his sentences.

The moment they were out of sight, Daenerys threw her napkin to the table and moved to stand up. But Joffrey claimed one of the spare seats before she could rise, and he leaned onto his elbows as he sent her a wide smile from across the table. “Little Dany,” he said, clucking his tongue, and she eyed him awkwardly.

“What do you want, Joffrey?” she asked with pause.

Joffrey chuckled. “You don’t have to be on the fence!” he assured her. “I know I’ve not spent a lot of time with you recently, but I don’t want you to think that I do not care.”

“What a relief,” Daenerys said and sent him a strained smile.

Joffrey didn’t seem to pick up on her cool tone. Rather, he sent her a pained look as he leaned over the table and reached for her hands. His skin was clammy on hers. She wondered why the summer sun didn’t seem to warm him at all. “Dany, I’m worried,” he said, and his voice was so earnest that she couldn’t help but perk. When she looked into his green eyes, she found no malice, just concern, and it made her ask:

“What’s wrong?” - and she felt herself mean it, leaning in closer as his voice turned to a whisper.

“Rumour has it that you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with _the staff_ ,” he said, making sure to enunciate the last words with grief.

Daenerys felt her mouth go dry. She tried not to let shock show on her face though her mind immediately started buzzing. _What does he know?_ she thought, staring into his cold eyes. _What is he insinuating?_ “Is that so?” she spoke with care, giving nothing away. “I didn’t take you for a man who listens to gossip.”

“Of course not.” Joffrey said quickly and his cheeks flushed red. “Which is exactly why I wanted to come to you directly. A Miss like yourself should know what people say.”

“What do they say?” she pushed, her eyes narrowed.

“You want to save the world,” Joffrey said, “but you have to pick your battles. They’re not all worth it. Some people count, some people don’t.”

Daenerys looked at him in disbelief. “I’ve heard that before,” she spoke slowly, but before she could remember wherefrom, Joffrey excitedly withdrew a book from a pocket in his suit.

The moment the paperback slammed onto the tabletop, Daenerys felt her stomach clench. It was titled: _No Happy Endings._

“Your brother lent me that,” Joffrey said and tapped at the front page. “It really spoke to me. You should give it a read.”

Daenerys wanted to laugh in hopelessness. Instead, she just shook her head and pushed herself up standing. “Please excuse me,” she said, “I have somewhere to be.”

“Of course.” Joffrey moved to stand too, but Daenerys didn’t give him the time to offer her any goodbyes. She merely turned on her heels and stalked out of the dining hall.

The morning air was wet. Daenerys welcomed the light rain as she leisurely strolled alongside the lake, letting the drops slipper down her warm skin. She wouldn’t let anything get to her, she decided. Not anything nor anyone. Living by other people’s unspoken rules was just another level of restriction to her existence.

Before arriving at the resort, she hadn’t realised how entangled she was in the web of expectations. Everything was given; she was a good student, so of course she would study at Dorne. She was an optimist, so of course she should enrol in the Peace Corps. She was a nice girl, so of course she would be a good match with Joffrey, the Lannister family’s golden nugget.

 _But there is more to life,_ Daenerys thought as she laid eyes on Margaery’s hut, _and there is more to me._ She quickly glanced around. Joffrey’s words fresh in her mind, she wanted to make sure that no one had followed her. Finding herself alone, though, she hurriedly walked the steps of the porch and knocked on the door.

“Robb?” a voice called out.

Daenerys tried to suppress a smile as she pushed the door open to find Margaery in bed, her fingers entangled in her hair as she quickened to untangle a lock. The moment she saw Daeneyrs, however, her hands fell with a sigh. “Oh, Dany,” she said, “I thought-”

“You look good,” Daenerys assured her, making Margaery blush.

“I wasn’t doing my hair for him,” she assured her, but she still picked up the mirror from her nightstand as she watched her reflection. With uncertainty to her voice, she muttered: “But it’s good?”

“It’s good,” Daenerys laughed. She closed the door before approaching her bedside. “You look much better,” she said before specifying, “ _health_ wise. You were going white last time I saw you.” The mere mention of that night made Daenerys’ throat knot up, and Margaery nodded solemnly.

“I feel better,” she said. “Your brother has been wonderful. He keeps checking up on me.”

“The wrong brother,” Daenerys said and rolled her eyes.

Margaery sent her a small smile and gestured for her to take a seat. As Daenerys settled on the edge of the bed, she sighed and sunk back down to let her head rest on the pillow. “I’m rather happy not to have him around,” she admitted. “I can’t stand the idea of seeing his face again.” She paused before glancing toward Daenerys with guilt in her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Trust me - I wish I could avoid him too,” Daenerys said, making her chuckle. She glanced down Margaery’s body; she was atop her duvet, a fuzzy robe wrapped around her frame, and her toes were wriggling in the air, almost as if she was dancing whilst lying down. “So, Robb’s been by?” she mused and looked back up at Margaery, just in time to find her blush.

“He’s a very good friend,” she muttered.

“Is that all?” she teased.

Margaery parted her lips to speak, but there was a knock on the door in the same.

As Daenerys turned to look, she saw Jon stepping over the threshold. He was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a loose blue shirt, the first few buttons popped open. As her eyes rested at the dip of his collarbone, she felt him glance at her with perplexion. “Oh, Dany,” he said, before looking at Margaery.

“Hi,” she smiled from the bed, and Jon returned it:

“Hey. You okay?” As Margaery nodded, Jon slowly walked up to stand before Daenerys, his gaze slipping between the two of them. When he met Daenerys’ eyes, his cheeks reddened, and he feigned interest in his shoes. “You two having a chat?” he asked, seemingly looking for something to say.

His shyness made Daenerys’ heart flutter. She bit onto her lower lip. “Just checking up on her.”

“Mr Targaryen says I’m gonna be fine,” Margaery told both of them. She was practically beaming as she added: “He says I can still have children.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Jon nodded, and Daenerys agreed:

“That’s very good. I’m so happy for you.” She reached out and squeezed her hand, and Margaery looked at her with kindness.

“You never told me how the dance went,” she said.

Daenerys’ immediately saw herself back at the Golden Tooth - pale dress, silver heels, spotlight on. Jon, suited and booted, his hands on her, his lead strong. She almost wished she could return and do it all over, but this time with no shyness, just pure confidence. The thought alone made her grin, and Margaery giggled:

“ _That_ well?”

“Oh no, I didn’t do the lift,” Daenerys quickly said.

“But it was good,” Jon said.

“It was good,” Daenerys agreed.

An awkward silence followed. Daenerys could feel Margaery’s brown eyes glance between them inquisitively, and her lips parted in a pop when everything seemed to dawn on her. “Oh,” she whispered, and it was so quiet that she probably thought herself silent, yet Daenerys heard it. It made her blush.

“I should go,” she mumbled. She got up from the bed, almost bumping into Jon because of how close he was, and she slipped around him, her palms dragging across his chest in the same. As she reached the door, she glanced back at them and did a little wave with her fingertips as she muttered: “Bye” before hurrying outside.

The rain had picked up. It was drumming lightly onto the roof of the porch. Daenerys bit the nail of her thumb as she leaned back against the side of the cottage and took in a deep breath. Her stomach was rumbling - not from hunger, but from all the emotions welling up inside of her after seeing Jon again. They hadn’t spoken since their night together. _A most wonderful night,_ she reminded herself and closed her eyes with a sigh.

He had been gentle and sweet. She could not imagine anyone treating her with more care. She could still feel the dip on her sides from where his fingertips held her as they made love, sense the wetness of his lips on her forehead, smell his breath across her face. She had to shake her head to rid herself of the indecent thoughts that entered her mind, worried of getting herself bothered whilst out in public. When she fluttered her eyes open once more, she was surprised to find his grey greeting her.

For a second, Daenerys wondered if she was still fantasizing. Then he spoke: “How are you?”

Daenerys bit her inner cheek and shrugged. “Good,” she said. “How are you?”

“Missing you,” he replied, his voice so perfectly gruff that the words sent shivers down her spine. She wanted nothing more than to grab him and kiss him, but the thought of someone watching them was still strong in her mind. Instead, she joined his side as he started walking through the rain toward the dance studio.

They had nothing to cover themselves with. As they made their way across the grass, she felt her hair getting soaked and her shirt sticking to her body. Yet, she didn’t mind, not when she caught him glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes.

“Have you been thinking about me?” she asked, her voice a whisper, and he replied with a nod.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d been thinking about me,” he said, and his voice was so hesitant that she couldn’t help but feel her heart ache.

“Of course I have,” she said. She looked around. In the rain, no one cared to venture out. She could see the shapes of people moving around behind the windows of the main building, but the path they took toward the studio let them around the back and out of sight from anyone. Once she was certain they were alone, she reached out and grabbed his hand. It was cold and wet, and she brushed her fingertips across his knuckles to warm them. “I have to take care,” she said, “if Rhaegar was to find out-”

“I know,” Jon assured her with a nod.

“I wouldn’t want you to lose your job,” Daenerys said, and Jon squeezed her hand with a small smile.

The rain was picking up even more by the time they reached the small building. A glimmering plaque on the door read: DANCE STUDIO. As Jon fumbled with the lock, Daenerys tried to cover her head with her hands, but to no avail. By the time they finally stumbled inside the dry space, she was dragging water and mud with her onto the clean wooden floor.

“Sorry,” Daenerys muttered and kicked off her shoes. Her feet were cold on the floor, and she jogged in place to warm up.

Jon shut the door and flipped the switch. The sharp light turned on above, illuminating the room. But for a wall covered in floor to ceiling mirrors, the place was plain.

Daenerys watched her own reflection as she pulled at the wet fabric of her shirt. “I haven’t been back here since I danced with Margaery,” she mused and turned on her toes, keeping her heels off the floor. She sent Jon a smirk. “Look - I’m not putting my heel down!”

“Guess the lessons worked,” Jon smiled. He was putting on a record. Soon, ‘Will you love me tomorrow’ started playing. Whilst Daenerys twisted some water from her top, Jon shrugged off his shirt, revealing a black tank beneath.

“Undressing for me?” Daenerys asked.

Jon bit his lower lip as he stepped toward her, a cocky rock to his body. “Should I undress for someone else?” he said. His hands slipped around her waist, turning her to face him, and they looked into each other’s eyes, their breaths deepening.

“Have you been with a lot of women?” Daenerys heard herself ask. She wasn’t sure why, but the question just seemed to slip from her lips, and it surprised her as much as Jon.

He blinked and swallowed. “What?”

Unable to back down now, Daenerys repeated: “Have you been with a lot of women?” She shyly slipped her arms around his neck and tickled his nape, and she felt compelled to add: “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“No, no,” Jon shook his head. He sighed, his eyes seeking the floor as her body eased into the music, her chest rocking close to his. “Dany, you have to understand - I grew up with no attention. I told you, there was no love to find with the Starks. Then suddenly I’m here and all these women are throwing themselves at me.”

Daenerys rolled a curly lock around her finger as she listened. Had anyone else spoken those words, she would’ve assumed they were bragging. Yet Jon looked almost embarrassed to admit the truth, so she said nothing, just nodded her head mindlessly to encourage him to carry on.

Jon’s voice was hushed when he continued: “All these women, they’re rich, right? They smell good, they look good. They come to my dance lessons, and they don’t come to dance, Dany. They come for something else. And I think I’m scoring big!”

Daenerys continued to nod though her heart ached. She thought back on Joffrey, how he’d told her about Jon’s _horizontal lessons_. She didn’t want to believe it at the time, but there he was freely admitting it. When he didn’t speak, she muttered: “It’s okay, I understand,” though she felt her mind empty. She glanced up at him shortly before looking away. “Like Melisandre, yeah? You were just using them.”

“No, Dany, that’s not it. Don’t you see?” Jon’s hand gently nudged at her chin, and he led her face back up to look him in the eyes. When she met his grey, she was surprised to see them wet. “They were using me, Dany. I was a big enough fool to let them, thinking that they cared. It’s like I said - one moment I’m rolling in cash, and the summer is never ending. The next I’m reading the job ads in the paper hoping to make a dollar.”

Daenerys felt it all dawn on her. _It doesn’t just go one way,_ she realised, thinking of the way Viserys had treated poor Margaery. _No,_ she thought, her hands slipping up through Jon’s thick curls, her fingertips dipping in between them as she claimed his lips with her own, the kiss soft. _No, I want to show him there’s such a thing as real love._

Jon’s lips were tender, but his hold on her soon got greedy - his fingertips stroked up and down her back before claiming her arse, his palms rubbing to the denim as if he could go straight through it.

Daenerys gasped into his kiss, and she wanted to deepen it, but as the record changed, her ears perked. The next song to play was ‘Love is strange’. The cheeky lyrics drummed through the room and, as Jon’s tongue pressed to her lips, she slipped free of his grasp and teasingly backed away from him.

“Dany?” he said, his voice vexed.

Daenerys hooked her index finger and gestured for him to follow. “Come here, loverboy,” she said, mimicking the lyrics, and Jon’s face lit up at once.

“Loverboy, is it?” he smirked, and he strutted right up to her and grabbed her by the waist.

“Hey!” Daenerys clucked her tongue and grabbed at his arms. “Watch your frame,” she chided.

Jon chuckled. “Oh, are you the dance teacher now?” he asked. There was longing to his breath, and it excited her.

As Daenerys let him lead her, she felt a thrilling confidence slipper across her skin. It warmed her up and teased her all at once, more so when Jon seemed incapable of keeping distance between them. He stepped closer, dragging her body to his, and she patted his arm.

“Watch - spaghetti arms,” she smirked and she scolded him with his own words. “Don’t you know that you need to lock your frame?”

“Looks like I need to lock you in place the way you’re behaving,” he grinned. He leaned in to kiss her, but she skipped backwards away from his lips, her own pursed.

“Watch your space,” she said. “This is my dance space,” she gestured in front of herself, “and that is yours,” she pointed to the air before him. All the same - Jon crossed both spaces and grabbed her by the waist as he tugged her close.

“And this,” he said, his breath on her lips, “is _our_ space.” This time he kissed her firmly, and Daenerys felt no need to pull away.

Instead, she dragged him closer, her arms slung over his shoulders, and she rocked into him, their bodies still following the music as their lips moved. Soon, she could taste his tongue. She allowed him into her mouth, shivering as he dragged across her own tongue, the scent of him strong. As their kiss grew wet, she felt her knees going weak, and at once she was grateful for his body holding her tight.

She wanted more. The need in her was growing. Her hands searched across his broad back, down to his sides, up across his abs to his firm pecs. She felt him admiring her too, his hands rubbing her hips, her arse, her back. Soon, she was against the mirror, her back pressed flat against the cold reflection, and she heard him whisper:

“My room?” which made her smile with joy.

“Yes please,” she replied, dragging her fingers through his curls one last time before regretfully letting go.

* * *

It was a warm afternoon when Jon and Daenerys exited Margaery’s cottage. Their friend had fully recovered; now walking around in a tight blue dress, she looked her previous confident self.

“I can’t wait to start dancing again,” she sighed as she bid them goodbye by the door.

Jon gave her a little smile. “Soon,” he promised. “Mr Targaryen said just one more week and you’ll be good to start lessons.”

“In one week this will all be over and shut,” Margaery sighed as she waved around, referring to the whole resort. “I’ll be back in King’s Landing teaching kids to cha cha.” She grimaced, making Daenerys chuckle.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she said.

“Well, I’ll probably be searching the papers again,” Jon sighed and crossed his arms. “Always someone who needs a strong pair of hands.”

“You guys should start your own studio,” Daenerys mused. “You could make good cash in no time.”

“First we gotta have the cash to rent a space,” Jon reminded her, bringing her back down to earth. He kicked some dust off the porch as he shrugged. “Gotta have money to make it. I ain’t never getting that lucky.”

“Seems like you got lucky enough, bastard.”

Daenerys stirred at the voice that called out to them. Before she turned to look, she knew who she would find strolling around the hut. “Viserys,” she whispered.

Her brother stopped at the railing to the porch and stared up at them with a smug smile. As the three of them silenced, he raised his brows and pursed his lips. “Oh, all quiet now, are we? Don’t stop on my accord. I just came to see Margaery.”

Margaery seemed to pale. Daenerys noticed how her hands shivered as she instinctively covered her stomach. “I have nothing to say to you,” she spoke, and Viserys clucked his tongue.

“Never said anything about speaking, I said I wanted to _see_ you. Now I have. But,” he paused, his gaze slipping from her to Jon and Daenerys. As he eyed his sister, his eyes narrowed. “But looks like I got more than I bargained for. So the rumours are true.”

“What rumours would that be?” Jon scoffed. He leaned on to the railing as he glared down at Viserys, and Daenerys placed her hand on his arm as if to hold him back. She could feel how Jon’s pulse had risen. All blood seemed to flow through his body at speed.

Viserys looked Jon up and down with his nose scrounged in disgust. “Margaery is lucky to still have someone around. It’s like they say - one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

“You piece of _shit_!” Jon jumped the railing, and Daenerys cried in surprise when she watched him grab at Viserys’ collar. His grip was strong, and his other hand raised, his fingers drawn into a tight fist. On her brother’s face, she saw surprise, but also a strange excitement.

“No!” she called. “He _wants_ you to hit him, Jon - don’t do it!” She too jumped the railing, clumsily falling to her feet. She stumbled her way over to them, grabbing a hold of Jon’s fist as she wrestled it down. “Don’t do it,” she repeated breathlessly, staring at his red, angry face.

There was a tense pause as Jon and Viserys stared each other down. Then, Jon pursed his lips and spat at the ground before her brother. “You’re not worth it,” he said with a crass voice, his hand in Daenerys’ softening. His fingers uncurled, the fist coming undone, and he took a step away with his hands raised as if to show he would not attack.

Viserys fiddled with the crinkled collar of his shirt. “Thought you’d be too scared,” he mocked. He glanced from Jon to Dany, and then he smirked: “Thanks for sorting my little problem, Dany, but watch what you do with that one.” He gestured at Jon. “One bastard is enough. Don’t go about making another.”

Jon took in sharp breath, and he raised his hand, ready to land a blow on Viserys. But before he could approach, Daenerys beat him to it - she stormed up and smacked her own fist to her brother’s face. Viserys stumbled backwards in surprise, his violet eyes wide. He didn’t have time to say anything - before his lips parted, Daenerys hit him again, this time knocking him to the ground.

As he laid moaning in pain on the ground, his hand rising to his bleeding nose, Daenerys scoffed down at him. “You’re nothing,” she said, her voice quivering with anger. Her cheeks had gone rosy red, and her knuckles were sore and pink from bruising his jawbone. She pressed her hand to her chest, rubbing it in the fabric of her dress as she glared at her brother. “I don’t care how successful you get, or how much the Lannisters blow your horn - you’ll always be nothing.”

Viserys watched the bright blood on his fingertips. His eyes were still surprised, as if he wasn’t fully understanding the situation. “You hit me!” he whined.

“Dany!” Jon grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from Viserys. The man was writhing on the ground, his white suit soaking up the dirt, still Daenerys kicked out after him.

“Nothing!” she shouted at him. She was shivering in rage. She didn’t even know she had such strong emotions in her - but her heart was beating so quickly she thought it might break through her chest, her breathing was heavy as had she run a marathon, and her mind buzzed with just one thought; she wanted Viserys to hurt.

“Dany,” Jon spoke again, this time softy, and it seemed to tear its way through her fury.

Daenerys blinked at him, and she finally pushed back against him, her body succumbing to his. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to his chest, whilst she glared toward her brother.

Viserys scurried to his feet. He glanced at the three of them, then toward the other staff members who were peeking out of their cottages. “You’ll regret this,” he guaranteed them. “You wait and see!” With that, he turned on his heels and stormed off, leaving behind a spot on the ground wet with his blood.

“Dany that was,” Jon paused, waiting for her to glance him in the eyes before breathing, “ _amazing._ ”

Daenerys almost smiled, but Margaery’s voice cut through in the same: “That was _stupid_.” She stood on the porch shaking her head, her brown locks jumping around her shoulders. “Your brother is vicious. Who knows what he’ll do.”

“Whatever he does, it’s on me,” Daenerys said. She glanced down at her red knuckles. Her skin ached, and she grimaced as she rubbed her hand to her chest. Somehow, the pain made her feel fantastic, the thought of her having stood up to Viserys fresh on her mind. Yet, she also knew there was a truth to Margaery’s worry, so when Jon closed his hand around hers, she looked at him shyly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Jon smiled as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. “I meant what I said,” he spoke, and the final kiss was pressed to her forehead, “you were _amazing_.”

As he dragged her into a hug, she couldn’t help but giggle to his shoulder. In his arms, she felt safe, and she could not imagine ever letting go.

* * *

“You see a patient, and you think he’s all right. It’s not until you look at the x-rays that you realise it’s nothing like you thought.”

Lunch was over. The hallways were bustling with waiters dragging carts of dirty plates from the dining hall. As Daenerys pushed her way in between the moving bodies, her ears perked at the sound of Tywin’s voice. It rang loudly in the hall now devoid of diners.

“I give and I give, Rhaegar. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop. I am sorry - I feel like I failed you in this.”

She stopped at the threshold as she peeked inside. By one of the windows, she spotted Rhagear. Her brother’s face looked concerned, his fisted hand pushed to his chin in thought whilst he watched Tywin before him. Their Lannister host stood tall and proud, his arm resting around the shoulders of his grandson Joffrey.

Still, though his voice was heavy with regret, Daenerys seemed to read a sense of pleasure on his face. It was in the strange way his lips turned upwards as he spoke, and his eyes were stern with no speck of concern to them. The same feeling was present on Joffrey’s face too - though solemn, something about him looked like a schoolboy struggling to keep a secret. He seemed jittery, his feet moving every second, and his fingers twisting at his sides.

“It is not your fault,” Rhaegar assured him, “I knew something was the matter. I could feel it. I only wish I’d spoken sooner.”

“You have a gentle heart,” Tywin said. “You do not want to find fault within people. Do not blame yourself.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes as she tried to make sense of the words being spoken. Knowing herself to be eavesdropping, she tried to press close to the doorframe to remain hidden, but Joffrey’s impatient movements caused him to glance her way and spot her.

“There is another gentle heart,” he said, his voice thick with excitement. He slipped free of Tywin’s hand as he strolled over to claim Daenerys’ arm. With an urging pull, he tugged her across the floor toward the men. “You should come and listen, Dany. It’s like I said - stay away from the entertainment staff. They’re something else.”

“What’s happened?” Daenerys asked. Her eyes sought from Joffrey’s wide green eyes to Tywin’s stern face before finally resting on Rhaegar. Her brother averted his eyes at once, seemingly unable to look at her still, and he cleared his throat.

“Dany-” he started, but Tywin cut in:

“We do not tolerate violence, Dany.” His eyes snapped to hers, and Daenerys felt herself stumble to Joffrey’s side, his hand still on her arm. Between Tywin’s glare and Joffrey’s fingers digging into her flesh, she had no way of fleeing despite a chilly feeling filling her chest.

She hid her bruised hand in her skirts as she swallowed. “Oh,” she merely said.

“You haven’t seen your brother recently, have you?” Rhaegar asked, his voice cool. He finally looked at her, and his violet eyes were like ice. She almost felt herself shivering under his stare. “He showed up to kitchen duties with his face all battered and bruised.”

“Oh,” Daenerys said again. A feeling of sick was lingering in her throat. _It is like Margaery said,_ she realised, _Viserys is vicious. What I did was stupid._ She felt embarrassed that she did not heed her warning earlier, but now it was too late. She was locked between the three of them, and Rhaegar’s stare was enough to convince her that they knew what she’d done. More so when Tywin continued:

“The poor boy wouldn’t tell us the truth at first. We had to keep asking until he finally broke down.”

“Look,” she stammered, “I’m sorry-”

“You should be sorry,” Rhaegar hissed. He took in a deep breath through his nose. “I told you not to hang around these people. I told you: _stay away from them._ ”

“They had nothing to do with this,” Daenerys gawked. She glanced between them stunned. She didn’t want to raise her voice, yet she could feel a fire burning in her cheeks. “You can’t blame them!”

“Oh, she’s a sweet one,” Joffrey said and shook his head sadly. He looked at her as if she were a child begging forgiveness. His hand slipped from her sore arm to her nape, and he lazily tickled her skin, making her shudder in disgust. When she stepped away from him, he frowned: “But she’s misguided.”

“How can you say they did nothing?” Rhaegar asked. “Jon beat up your brother!”

Now Daenerys was really surprised. She stared at her brother in disbelief. “You think he did it!” she cried.

“Viserys told us everything,” Tywin said, his voice calm. He sighed: “I have to say that I’m surprised. We gave Jon a chance to make something of himself. We never expected him to be such a _disappointment._ ”

“Jon did not beat him up!” Daenerys assured them. She looked between their faces, all of them full of pity for her supposed confused mind, and she finally focused on Rhaegar. She reached out, her fingers digging into the soft sleeve of his suit, and she gave it a tug. “Rhaegar, you have to believe me,” she said seeking his eyes, but once more he looked away. “I know he didn’t do it.”

Rhaegar’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it felt like a slap when he said: “We both know I can’t trust you anymore, Dany.”

“We asked Jon where he was,” Tywin’s voice cut through, and they all turned to look at him, “the day Viserys got beaten up. You know what he said?” The man paused, leaving Daenerys with her heartbeat in her throat as she awaited the conclusion.

“What?” she asked.

“He said he was in his room. Reading a book.”

“There are no books in Jon’s room,” Joffrey chortled. “I’d be surprised if he can even read!”

“So we’ve got a witness and no alibi,” Tywin pointed out. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he shook his head sadly. “There is nothing else to it, Dany. Come on, Joffrey - it’s time you learn how to fire a staff member.”

“I did it!” Daenerys held her breath as she glanced between them. Her heartbeat was rapid, but somehow she felt the sick feeling in her throat diminish. Letting it all out seemed to release something from her body - a strange feeling of relief flooded through her. As the three men stared at her, she took in a deep breath as she repeated: “I beat up Viserys.”

“Don’t say such vile things,” Rhaegar urged and reached for her, but Daenerys merely held out her bruised hand. As she spread her fingers, her blackened knuckles were obvious for all to see. She thought she heard Joffrey gasp with glee.

“Mr Lannister, you can’t fire Jon for this - not when I’m the culprit,” she pointed out and looked Tywin right in the eyes.

The old man seemed hesitant. He watched her bruised hand with a strange fascination to his eyes before turning to Rhaegar, his lips parted though no words left his mouth.

Rhaegar too seemed stunned. “It can’t be,” he slowly spoke. “You weren’t with Jon. You told me yourself that morning - you said you were going to do charades with the other guests in the studio.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. _Even now, when I’ve disappointed him beyond belief, he will not face the truth about me,_ she realised. _Even now, I am his little sister, and he cannot fathom that I could’ve done this - that I could’ve_ lied _like this._ All the same, Daenerys bit her inner cheek as she admitted: “I was with Jon. All day. I was there on Margaery’s porch when Viserys insulted him, and it was my fist that split his lip.”

Rhaegar took in a shivering breath. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out of the dining hall, leaving Daenerys to the Lannisters.

As she stood watching her hand, she sensed Tywin moving too. But she was too lost in thought to pay attention to him, even when he grabbed Joffrey to drag him along, the golden haired lad protesting: “I want to stay with Dany!” All she could do was close her eyes and take in a shivering breath, knowing that from that moment onwards, everything was about to change.

* * *

Daenerys found Rhaegar sitting in the pavilion. In the light breeze, his silver hair was being dragged around, but he didn’t bother moving the strands out of his face. Instead, he was leaned back on a wooden recliner, his arms crossed at his chest and his legs stretched out, and his violet eyes didn’t falter when she slowly crossed the floor toward him. He seemed focused on something across the water, his gaze lost in the horizon, and all she could do was stand still at his side as she waited for him to acknowledge him.

The acknowledgement never came.

After a few minutes of silence, nothing but the rustling leaves keeping them company, Daenerys finally spoke: “I am sorry I lied to you.” She tucked her loose cardigan closely around her body as she shuffled a bit closer to the recliner, still Rhargar didn’t move.

Her brother’s chest rose and fell as he exhaled in a sigh, his eyes not moving an inch.

Daenerys bit her lower lip. “Only, you lied to me too,” she pointed out. She saw something in him stir, a bothered emotion crossing his face, but when he still didn’t speak, she inhaled to continue: “You told me all people are alike. That everyone deserves a chance. But you never truly meant everyone, did you?” She sniffed, struggling to keep her voice steady. “You only meant everyone who’s alike you.”

Rhaegar finally moved a little. His face dropped, his chin pressing to his chest for a second as if he was about to fall asleep, but then he blinked his violet eyes up to meet hers. In them, she found tears, and it made it all the harder for her not to well up as well.

“You always said,” she started, swallowing a sob, “that you wanted me to change the world. That I could make it a better place. But I now realise that you meant by going to a fancy university or marrying someone rich like Joffrey.” She felt a small smile spread on her lips. It was not one of joy, but sadness, and when she blinked, she felt tears escaping her eyes. The wetness trickled down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe her face. She just let them stream as she glanced toward the horizon.

The surface of the lake was rippled from the breeze. The trees on the other side waved in the wind. The green leaves were getting a yellow tint to them. She sensed summer was truly coming to an end.

“I heeded your words, you know? I’ve given second chances. I’ve worked hard to help people. I’ve done what you told me to do, and still you give me the silent treatment. But you know what?” She hesitated, smelling the freshness in the breeze as it patted her cheeks dry, only for them to wetten again a second later. “I am not proud of all I’ve done, all the lies I’ve told - but I am still part of this family.”

Rhaegar sighed. He folded his hands at his stomach and eyed his feet, and Daenerys glanced at his face with pain in her eyes.

Her whole body was shivering, her brain urging her to silence herself, to stop speaking. But her heart gave her the courage to carry on. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she said, “but if you love me, you have to love those things too. I can be kind, and I can be reckless, and I can be stupid, and I can be courageous. I may not do things the way you want me to, but I do things the way I see right. It’s all I can do. It’s what you taught me.”

Rhaegar still didn’t speak. His eyes were glazed over, but he remained quiet, his face forced into a neutral expression.

Daenerys couldn’t stop herself from sobbing now. It left her throat like a wrenched, wet sound. “I love you,” she cried, “and I am sorry I let you down. But you know what? You let me down too.” She took in a shivering breath, and then she turned on her heels and walked off. She didn’t hear her brother calling out to her as she stomped down the steps of the pavilion, and in the moment, she knew it didn’t matter anyway.

She had only one place to be, and she stalked across the lawn toward Jon’s place with hurried steps.

Jon looked like he had been awaiting her. He was sat on his porch, but the moment he spotted her, he jumped to his feet and welcomed her into his arms with a warm hug. He didn’t even ask about her tears, or why she shivered, or why she cried to his neck. He just held her, and she collapsed into his embrace, grateful for someone loving to hold on to.

Daenerys wasn’t sure how she made it into his room. She only knew that by the time she stopped wailing, she was in a chair, a blanket in her lap and a cup of coffee between her hands, and Jon was by her feet, stroking her legs with care.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice soothing, “it’s okay.”

Daenerys glanced into the hot brew. Her cheeks were sticky with tears, and her heart hurt from beating quickly. She felt almost tired of breathing. She wished she could just close her eyes and go to sleep. “It’s not okay, though,” she said. “Nothing about my family is okay.”

“That’s not true,” Jon said. He pressed a kiss to her shin, then her knee. As he pushed himself up kneeling, he reached over and closed his hands around hers, pressing them close to the warm mug. His grey eyes met her violet ones. In comparison to Rhaegar, he had no hesitation to him - just fondness. It almost made her heart melt. “You are part of your family,” he said slowly, “and you are more than okay. You’re fantastic.”

“Fantastically stupid,” Daenerys scoffed. She blinked, forcing the last wetness from her eyes. She had no more tears to cry. She was only feeling angry. “I told them the truth. About who beat up Viserys. About us.”

“I know,” Jon said, and she stirred in surprise.

“You do?”

Jon pushed through her fingers to the mug. He dragged it free of her palms and put it aside on the floor before claiming her hands again. He pressed a kiss to her bruised knuckles. “They went back to question Viserys,” he said, “and he broke down and admitted the truth.

Daenerys blinked. “ _He did?_ ” she spoke in shock. Something inside of her tickled her nerves. It was like sensing rain after a long drought. “So it’s okay?” she asked, rising to her feet as Jon did. She looked up into his eyes with hope. “It’s all okay - they know you didn’t beat him, so you can keep your job and-”

“I’m out, Dany.” Jon’s voice was solemn.

The feeling of relief froze in her at once. “What?”

“I’m out,” he repeated. He gently twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, his lips pushing to a saddened pout.

“But if they know-” Daenerys started, but she stopped herself. It all dawned on her. She whispered: “They’re firing you because of _us_.”

“And if I leave quietly, I still get my bonus,” Jon added, his voice salty. He bit his teeth together in a grimace. “Apparently, staff should never mess with guests. It’s like I committed a cardinal sin. It doesn’t matter who did what to whom - I am out. This is the end for me.”

“So it was all for nothing.” Daenerys felt her fingertips tremble as they pressed to Jon’s chest. If she hadn’t already cried, she was sure tears would’ve escaped her eyes. But she was dried up, and the heat inside of her was just kindling her emotions into embers that threatened to break out into a fire of rage. “I hurt my family. You lost your job. All I did and said was for _nothing_.”

“Not for nothing,” Jon assured her. He dragged her close, holding her in a tight hug as he spoke to her hair: “Dany, no one has ever stood up for me before. _No one_.”

“It’s like you said,” Daenerys mumbled to his skin, “it’s all ups followed by downs.”

“I don’t want you speaking like that,” Jon scoffed. He held her by the shoulders as he pulled her an inch back, allowing him to look down into her eyes. His gaze was stern. “Do you hear me, Dany? You keep your optimism, and you will change the world.”

She sent him a faint smile. “I don’t know if I believe it anymore,” she said, her voice tired.

“You better believe,” he said, and he raised her head by the chin, “because you changed me.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, and Daenerys returned it. She could taste her tears, the salt heavy on her lips, but soon even that disappeared. Soon, she could only scent him on her tongue, and she allowed herself to fall into him one last time.

* * *

Daenerys heard him take off in the morning.

The sun was still rising as she stepped out of the shower, the knocking on the door barely audible. As she ran a towel over her hair, trying to find her reflection in the steamed up mirror, she heard Rhaegar open the front door of the cottage and mumble in surprise.

“What are you-”

“Mr Targaryen,” someone spoke, “please forgive me, I’ll keep it short.”

Daenerys stared at herself wide-eyed. _That’s Jon’s voice,_ she knew at once. She wanted nothing more than to rush out of the bathroom and straight into his arms, but she managed to calm herself. She pushed the bathroom door ajar, just enough for her to peek out. The cool breeze from outside slipped across her heated skin. She shivered as she craned her neck until the porch was in view.

Over her brother’s shoulder, she could see him. Jon was dressed in a black leather jacket and sunglasses, but he took them off at once, shyly fumbling with the frame as he stammered: “I know what you’re thinking, Sir.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Rhaegar retorted. His voice was so crass that Daenerys felt her toes curl.

Jon too looked vexed, but he remained polite. “You’re right Sir, I don’t. But I do know that you want Dany to be like you - someone others look up to. But here’s the thing, Sir - she already _is_. If only you could see-”

“Don’t tell me what to see,” Rhaegar barked, once again cutting Jon off. From her spot, Daenerys could sense how her brother was brimming with anger. His hand on the door handle was growing white from squeezing at it so hard. “You want to know what I see? I see someone who got their partner in trouble, sent her off to some butcher, and then moved on to the next sweet thing which happened to be my sister.”

Jon took in a sharp breath. Daenerys held her own. For a second, she thought he was going to lash out at her brother, but then he exhaled with a sigh. “I guess that’s what you would see,” he merely nodded. As he slipped his shades back on, she thought his grey eyes caught hers, if only for a second, but then he was gone. She heard his steps down the porch, followed by the sound of an engine turning on.

Daenerys didn’t have to look to know that Jon had just left her life forever.

* * *

Joffrey pursed his lips. His green eyes scanned the room. He leaned in close to the silver microphone. Then, his voice rang hoarsely through the air, his singing a mumble at best: “At Casterly Resort, we are all like a family, we have had weeks of fun, under the Lannister hospitality.”

Daenerys gritted her teeth together not to cringe, but she knew her face was bathed in boredom. For the past two hours, she’d sat at the corner table next to Rhaegar, eating and drinking her way through one miserable act after another. The staff had tried their best to add some elegance to the ballroom; fairy lights across the stage, the guests’ flower arrangements on every table, the scent of roses sweet in the air.

But whilst Daenerys normally enjoyed the smell, it now appeared sickly sweet, and she felt her throat clench. She pushed herself tight against the wall to get as far away from the vase as possible.

“I’ve packed the car,” Rhaegar said, and he shortly glanced from the stage to her. “All our stuff is in the trunk. Once this is over, we’re leaving.”

“In the dark eve?” Daenerys asked, though she honestly didn’t care. Her voice must have given it away, because her brother narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you like this, hm?” he asked. “Why couldn’t you just let your brother shine for one time in his life?”

Daenerys stared at him with a tired smile. “Oh Rhaegar,” she said and shook her head, “if only you had the sense to see.”

Joffrey’s voice persisted: “The season’s over, soon winter arrives, but worry not, we will all thrive. We abide our time, our hearts all know, what truly matters, always shows.”

The light was dimmed. When Daenerys glanced across the other tables, she could barely recognise the faces, but she did see someone known - there, at the back of the room, stood Margaery and Robb. Their arms were tucked around one another, their bodies pressed close, but in their faces she found no joy. They looked sad, staring at the stage as Viserys now stepped forward. The bruises on his face were still visible, but makeup had heavily been applied to his skin, blending in some of the redness. Still he looked sore as he joined Joffrey’s side to claim the microphone together with him, their voices joining in a shrill shiver:

“So join hands, join hearts, at Casterly Resort. Join hands, join hearts, fun here is never short. Join hands, join hearts, next year we all shall see - that we will come together, just like a family.”

As Daenerys scoffed, Rhaegar parted his lips to speak, only Tywin was quicker. The man walked up to their table with a sense of pride to him, staring across the room with the same satisfaction to his eyes like a well-fed lion.

“Another good year, Rhaegar,” he spoke, and Daenerys watched her brother nod mindlessly.

“I suppose.”

“I don’t think I ever let you know how I admire you,” Tywin continued, and Rhaegar waved his hand shyly.

“I saved your life once,” he muttered, “please, there is no need to keep thanking me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t referring to that,” the man replied, making Rhaegar blink in confusion. He scooted back in his seat as Tywin claimed the empty space at their table. He shortly looked at Daenerys before turning to face Rhaegar. “I sense we are alike, you and I. We both care for our family and want to see it succeed, no matter the cost.”

“I suppose,” Rhaegar spoke once more, but Daenerys could hear how his voice carried pause. His eyes were narrowing as he glanced at Tywin’s face.

“What you did for your brother was honourable,” Tywin continued.

Rhaegar felt himself flush. “I accused the wrong man,” he said, his voice lowered, “there is nothing to praise about that.”

“Oh, the incident with Viserys?” Tywin chuckled and raised his brows at Daenerys. “You have a tough hand, Miss. But trust me - my children have fought too. I know how it is.”

“I am nothing like your children, nor your grandchildren,” Daenerys hissed, her voice shivering with anger. Her hands had turned to fists under the table, and despite a repoaching glare from Rhaegar she couldn’t stop herself saying: “I have no regrets about what I did.”

“Nor do my children,” Tywin said as a matter of fact, “nor my grandchildren. I want them to be strong. I am not accusing you, Dany, I am praising you. Same with you, Rhaegar-” he turned to her brother once more, and Rhaegar was quick to wipe his disgusted expression of his face to instead appear neutral.

But Daenerys had noted it. She knew he too was repulsed by Tywin’s speech, and it gave her heart a little flutter of hope.

“No, I am not referring to the beating. I admire how you helped Viserys out with Margary,” Tywin said.

Rhaegar sat up in his seat at once. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Tywin smiled wryly. “I guess we’ve all gotten into messes like this, right? Women lure us, and when they find themselves in an undesirable situation, they’re quick to moan and cry about how unfair the world is. Doesn’t occur to them to just keep their legs shut.” He scoffed and glanced over his shoulder toward Margaery.

“I’m still not following,” Rhaegar said, but his voice was weak. Daenerys could tell that something was dawning on him - the way his cheeks were going stark white told her everything.

“Joffrey told me,” Tywin said, and he nodded solemnly. “Had it been me, I might have left the wench to figure things out herself. But it’s like I said - you have a gentle heart, Rhaegar, and the fact that you helped her and supported your son at the same time? Well, as said - I admire you.” He reached over and patted Rhaegar’s shoulder with kindness before getting up. “I have to admit that I was uncertain about Viserys at first, but knowing that he has his family’s support, I think we can find him a place in the Lannister business.”

Rhaegar gawked at Tywin, but the man seemed to pay him no heed. As the song continued and hit a certain spot, he clapped his hands together as he said:

“That’s my cue for the stage!” and he hurried off down the aisle toward the steps.

Rhaegar sat frozen like a statue. Daenerys watched him with care. “Are you okay?” she asked after a bit.

Rhaegar slowly shook his head as he turned to her, his eyes shivering. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked in a whisper. “Why did you let me believe-”

“Jon didn’t want to break up the family,” Daenerys said and eyed the napkin in her lap. She pulled at a loose thread in it. “But it seems,” she spoke slowly, “that Viserys managed to anyway.”

“All this time I thought-” Rhaegar started, but his voice died out on his lips. He took a deep breath through his nose. “This is what you tried to make me understand, isn’t it?” he asked as he watched her tug at the napkin. There was a sadness to his tone. “But I didn’t listen.”

“When we left for here, you said to me - _sometimes we find joy in the most peculiar places_. Do you remember?” Daenerys asked, and she glanced up into his eyes. Her brother nodded a little. “Well,” Daenerys said, and she swallowed, her heart aching as she admitted: “I find that joy in Jon. He was my joy in this peculiar place, and now he is gone. And honestly, I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself or you or anything in this world for letting him go.” As she spoke, her voice broke into a sob. As she curled up against the cold wall, her frame collapsing in on itself, Rhaegar reached for her.

But it was someone else’s hand that grabbed hers. “No one puts Dany in a corner,” a gruff voice spoke.

Daenerys looked up with surprise. At first, she could not believe her eyes, not even when she saw the black hair and pouty smile and shining grey eyes. Not even when Jon dragged her to her feet, his eyes not even acknowledging Rhaegar as he led her down the aisle toward the stage. “Jon,” she whispered, and she blinked a tear out of her eye, “you came back?”

When they climbed the stage together, Tywin was by the microphone. His deep singing rang across the audience: “Let’s join hands one last time-” were the last words he spoke before Jon grabbed the silver stand out from between his hands.

The Lannister man looked between him and Daenerys in disgust, but Jon’s face was defiant as he held the microphone to his lips. “I always do the last dance of the season,” he spoke, his voice carrying over the chattering audience with confidence. All quieted in the ballroom. “This year, someone told me not to. But I’m afraid I’m no good at listening.”

As he spoke, Daenerys saw how Margaery now stood alone in the back, a bright smile on her lips, and when she glanced to the side, she saw Robb claiming the record player behind the curtain. He brusquely pushed the other staff member aside as he changed the music.

“So now, I’ll lead the last dance with a wonderful partner who is not only great at dancing, but also someone who’s taught me kindness, patience, and love. She’s shown me that some people are willing to fight for others, no matter the cost. And I think that deserves to be on stage more than,” he waved toward Joffrey and Viserys, the two men huddled together in the corner of the stage with annoyance on their faces, “whatever that is.”

Daenerys stared at him in awe. She wasn’t sure how to feel, what was appropriate to feel in the moment, she only knew this - that when the music started and Jon’s hands grabbed her waist, her body filled with a happiness unlike what she’d ever felt before.

‘The time of my life’ started playing. The soft, gentle start was lost to her as she felt herself drown in Jon’s grey eyes, yet her feet knew exactly what to do. They moved at their own accord, her body certain of where to go, and she allowed Jon to lead her across the stage, the place emptying out as the staff and Lannisters scurried aside.

Daenerys’ steps were confident. Her beat was spot on. As the rhythm picked up, she held her frame, stayed on her toes, and felt her face break out into a big grin as Jon smiled at her. There were no _spaghetti arms_ , no _feet down_ , no worry or hesitation. Just love as they moved, her skirt twirling, his eyes sparkling, and the audience cheering them on with joy.

“I missed you,” she said as he pulled her close.

“I only left this morning,” he teased, but as he pressed a kiss to her lips, he admitted: “But I missed you too.”

“This is disgusting,” Joffrey’s angry voice shivered off-stage. “Grandpa, do something. _Do something!_ ”

“I think we’re running out of time,” Daenerys breathed as their lips parted, and she felt a blush on her cheeks from the way Jon looked at her.

“Only one thing to do,” he muttered. Before explaining, he let go of her and he jumped off the stage, perfectly landing on his toes to twirl around. As he held up his arms, Daenerys stared down at him in confusion, but when he nodded, she understood at once.

 _This is it,_ she thought, and she scooted back a few steps, sensing how Tywin was reaching for her on her right, and Viserys on her left, _This is my moment._ Before either of the men could grab her, she ran forward and threw herself off the stage, landing straight in Jon’s arms, the lift perfect. As he twirled her around in the air, her skirt fluttering, the audience gasped in surprise, and Daenerys became shyly aware of Rhaegar watching them too.

As Jon lowered her to her feet, she mumbled: “We better get out of here.”

“And go where?” he asked, though he let her take his hand and lead him toward the exit.

“Anywhere. Anywhere that’s not here,” Daenerys said.

“Dany!” It was Rhaegar’s voice. As they reached the exit, he came running behind them, his arm reaching out to block them from leaving. They stared at each other, a pause between them as they all held their breaths. Then, Rhaegar turned to Jon with a stern face.

“I know you’re not the one who got Margaery in trouble,” he said, and Jon nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes uncertain. He glanced between Daenerys and Rhaegar before her brother continued:

“When I am wrong,” he said, “I say I’m wrong.”

The music stopped. As Daenerys glanced toward the stage, she saw Tywin, Joffrey and Viserys storm down the steps and along the aisle toward them. “They’re coming,” she whispered, her voice slightly panicked. She wasn’t sure what they were going to do. She didn’t even know where they were going to go. She just knew that she could not stand the thought of parting from Jon again.

Rhaegar glanced the same way as her, but he seemed to have a strange calmness to his face. With the same authority as he used to present as a doctor, he turned to Jon once more. “Do you have anything to pack?” he asked.

Jon blinked confused. “Uh, no Sir,” he stammered, “I don’t really own anything.”

“I have a practice back in Dorne,” he said. “Those who work hard for me get treated fairly. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” Jon said, nodding with eagerness.

Rhaegar glanced at Daenerys. “And you,” he said, his voice so sharp that she almost shuddered before his lips parted in a smile, “you danced wonderfully, Dany.”

 _There it is,_ Daenerys realised, feeling how a weight lifted off her chest at Rhaegar’s words, _there is the brother I know. The kind, strong father-figure I never had._ As he moved his arm and urged them on, she had no more worries. In fact, she felt as free as she had the day Jon took her to the lake. When she rose into the air, his arms holding her, she had felt like a bird. Now, her stomach fluttered with another sense of joy, and as Rhaegar hurried them to his car and they bundled up on the backseat, she felt jittery with excitement.

“Is he for real?” Jon asked her as the door shut, watching Rhaegar walk calmly around to the driver side and get in.

Daenerys smiled at him and squeezed his hand in response.

“Rhaegar!” Tywin called. As Rhaegar started the vehicle, he stormed up to the window to glance in at them. “Rhaegar, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m your brother!” Viserys cried from behind him. His voice was forced full of sorrow, but his eyes looked more angry than sad. In this, he was akin Joffrey who tried to catch sight of Daenerys through the window.

Jon sat up to cover as much of her as possible as he glared back at the golden haired lad.

“We are leaving,” Rhaegar stated cooly, but he couldn’t stop Tywin from wrestling the door open.

“Surely you’re not going to blame your brother for a foolish mistake!” he barked.

“That _foolish mistake_ almost cost a young woman her life!” Rhaegar spat back at him. Daenerys could see how his eyes quivered with anger, more so when he glanced toward Viserys. “All this time, I supported you, and all you did was stick your prick in places it doesn’t belong!”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” Viserys whined, and he turned to look at Tywin. “He can’t talk to me like that!” he insisted.

Tywin’s fingers dug around the metal of the door as Rhaegar tucked at it. “It’s all about family,” he said, “in the end, it’s all about family. Some people count, some people don’t.”

Daenerys could scarcely believe what happened next, yet she watched in awe as Tywin withdrew a well-known paperback from his suit jacket and tried handing it to Rhaegar. _No Happy Endings._

“Joffrey lent it to me,” he said, “you should read it, Rhaegar. It speaks volumes.”

Rhaegar gingerly took hold of the book and turned it over, looking like he was reading the summary on the back.” Some people count, some people don’t,” he repeated Tywin’s words. Then, he glared toward Viserys, and he threw the book back out at them. “I already know who counts,” he said. His violet eyes shortly sought the two of them in the backseat before he slammed the door shut, forcing Tywin to pull away.

As he set off down the path, Daenerys turned in the seat, and together with Jon she watched the three men disappear behind them, their frames turning small until they got engulfed by the darkness.

For a few minutes, the car was quiet. All they could hear was the engine roar as they set off toward Lannisport, the road ahead only sparsely lit. Then, Rhaegar reached out and turned on the radio. ‘When a man loves a woman’ started playing. Daenerys looked at Jon. He looked back at her. In his eyes, she found hope, and when he mouthed the lyrics, she found herself giggling and mimicking back.

Under Rhaegar’s gentle watch in the rearview mirror, the two of them shuffled close, their fingers intertwined and their lips silently singing along, all the way from Casterly Resort to Dorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to DragonandDirewolf for the amazing art! - and thanks to all of you for your support with this as well as my other Valentines day stories!
> 
> Tomorrow likely won't have a story as it's my birthday and therefore a time for me to relax (after work. Hopefully!). If inspiration strikes, I'll be back, but likely I'll have a little break now. Hope to see you all in more stories soon though!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to DragonandDirewolf for the amazing art! - and thanks to all of you for your support with this as well as my other Valentines day stories!
> 
> Tomorrow likely won't have a story as it's my birthday and therefore a time for me to relax (after work. Hopefully!). If inspiration strikes, I'll be back, but likely I'll have a little break now. Hope to see you all in more stories soon though!


End file.
